


Force of Nature

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-08-16 20:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 126,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16502411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Jackson Avery has been a single father for the duration of his daughter, Athena’s, life. Her mother, Myla, died tragically during childbirth and rests under a nondescript headstone gone unvisited. Jackson, a high-powered stockbroker, needs help with his growing daughter and hires a nanny - April Kepner.April is a nanny by day, lounge pianist and singer by night. The Avery family is not easy to get close to, but she quickly becomes tangled in their web. There are things Athena never learned from her mother that she’s desperate to know - and though she’s hellbent on keeping her nanny at an arm’s length, April might be the only one able to teach her.As she cracks the hardened veneers of both the Avery father and daughter, April finds herself falling for them both. But a nanny isn’t a mother, as anyone knows, and April won’t find her place - in her job or in the world - so easily.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HEY GUYS! This is my NaNoWriMo story for this year!! I hope you guys remember Brand New World, which I wrote for this contest last year. Hoping FoN can get the same amount of love. Happy reading!

**APRIL**

I never get to play exciting songs in the lounge, but at least it works towards paying the bills.

At the moment, I’m practically falling asleep as I play my own rendition of Moon River, which is a popular request among these types of people. An older crowd with refined taste, a proclivity for soft, lilting tones with sweet melodies that they’re familiar with. Some nights, I get to play jazzier, quicker tunes, and others I play songs even slower. At least I can hum along to Moon River under the notes and entertain myself to a certain degree.

What comes along with the job is the perk of being able to riff and improvise - within reason, that is. There’s no one standing over my shoulder in the manner of my old lesson teacher and telling me not to move so much or sing along. No, now I get paid to get lost in the music and act as the soft backdrop for a magical evening to many. It’s a privilege, really. Just sometimes, a very sleepy one.

As Moon River ends and I begin a gentle version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, I smile to myself and give each note the amount of attention it deserves. This was the first full song I learned when I was five years old, and the one I performed during my very first recital. The only recital that both my mother and father were present for - the only one my mother ever witnessed. And even then, she had tubes in her nose and an oxygen tank alongside her - I hadn’t noticed those things, though. I was young and incredibly proud that I had their eyes, just me. None of my sisters were allowed to come because it was my day. No matter how many times I play this song or how many different ways, that memory always floats to the surface of my consciousness. I don’t think I’d play the piano quite the way I do without it.

Demure applause sound throughout the dining hall as I finish the final notes, and I smile at the keys instead of looking up and making eye contact with anyone in particular. It’s a strange, symbiotic relationship that myself and the audience have. They aren’t here for me, they’re here to eat, and most of them probably don’t consciously realize the piano music slipping through the air. They’re here to eat, to socialize with friends, and I don’t exist in their realm. That’s perfectly fine with me - that’s a big part of why I like this job so much. I’m allowed to be content in the soft bubble I create for myself and I’ve gotten good at blending in with the atmosphere. Only on rare occasions do patrons come up after they’ve eaten to thank me for the music. I don’t accept tips - I’m paid an hourly rate - so it’s just an added cordiality that I hold close for hours after.

It’s much different than the bar where I find myself after hours. The Whistler, which hosts live music seven nights a week. I always sign up for as many slots that are allowed - three per week. Sometimes I can get more if business is slow, or if I’m too busy at the Grand Luxe playing piano then I don’t make it in at all. But that’s rare - singing is my passion; it’s what I love to do and I’d walk through fire to get to that bar. Someday, someone from a record label will be sitting in the audience and they’ll snatch me up. At least, that’s always what the owner, Owen, always says.

My dad doesn’t know that I play the piano to make a living, and barely a living at that. He thinks I’m still looking for a job in the nursing field, which is what I went to school for. Not willingly, either. He told me, fresh out of high school, that he’d only pay for my college education if I majored in nursing. Assuming I’d get used to it and eventually come to enjoy it, I agreed. But assimilation never happened and I never got an ounce of gratification from the avenue I was forced to take. I graduated with honors, it’s not that I wasn’t good, but it’s not something I want to do during the day, no less the rest of my life. So, needless to say, he has no idea what I’ve been up to and I don’t plan on telling him anytime soon.

I don’t usually book myself a double - meaning going from the Grand Luxe to The Whistler in one night, but tonight there was no other choice. It was either take this slot or take none at all, and that was something I wasn’t willing to do. I hadn’t been able to get in earlier this week, and there’s an itch in the pit of my chest that can only be scratched by standing on that stage with everyone’s eyes on me. That’s my favorite place to be, and I’m dying to get there.

“Thanks for your work tonight, April,” the restaurant manager says as I clock out and gather my things. “It was wonderful.”

“No problem, Rich,” I say, waving over my shoulder as I push through the revolving doors. “I’ll see you tomorrow night for another exciting round of smooth jazz.”

I hear his laugh before I’m out on the street and smile to myself, knowing we share the same thoughts and sense of humor about the audience the restaurant usually attracts. I don’t have to think about that anymore tonight, though, because it’s time to switch to the next mindset. I hurry to The Whistler so I have time to change out of my stuffy uniform and into something flashier - leather leggings and a thin, sparkly shirt with a deep V. My hair is still up in a tight bun as I shove my feet into the high heels I brought, and as I stand in front of the mirror to give myself a once-over, I pull the elastic out and watch it tumble around my shoulders in loose waves.

“That’s more like it,” I say to myself, increasing the volume by fluffing the sides. I do some vocal warm-ups while watching my reflection, only to be interrupted by the bathroom door coming open and Stephanie coming in.

“What are you doing in here?” she asks, pulling up her bra strap that’s fallen down her shoulder. “The dressing room has empty chairs. We were all wondering where you were.”

“I just came from work,” I say. “I didn’t want everyone to see me in that suit.”

“Oh, god, the suit,” she says, chuckling. “Okay, I get it. They’ll be excited you’re here. What are you gonna bless us with?”

“I don’t know,” I say, leaning forward to apply a dark red lip. “I was thinking maybe Praying?”

“Yes, please,” she says. “A definite yes. You haven’t done that one here yet, have you?”

“Nope,” I say, blinking on my mascara. “I just got it down the other day for you in the living room.” She laughs. “So, you’re sure it’s good enough?”

“Bitch, it’s amazing and you know it. Don’t be coy.”

“I’m serious,” I say, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I get nervous with new songs. You know that.”

“I know. I swear, it’s awesome. But as good as my rendition of Best Thing I Never Had that you missed? Well, that’s up for debate.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say. “I literally just got off.”

She gives me a smile that lets me know all is forgiven and she understands. “I’m kidding. It’s fine. I know you’re a working woman.”

I stand up straight and turn around to give her a hug, squeezing her shoulders for a beat too long because the contact feels good after a long day of not seeing her. Steph and I live together and we’re best friends - fighting the stereotype that best friends should never be roommates. Nothing has ever gone wrong between us, and she’s my other half as I am for her. We always say that we don’t need men in our lives because of how important we are to one another, and if we’re both single by 35, we’re going to adopt children and raise a badass family together. We’re that close.

“You don’t have to stay for my set if you wanna get home,” I say. “I don’t mind. It’s only fair since I missed yours.”

“I’m not missing Praying,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “You’re fucking crazy. Just throw me a bone and toss a little Memory in there, too.”

“Shut up,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m not singing anything from _Cats_. I won’t do it.”

“Come on! No one knows _Cats_ anymore. It’s a great song. They’ll just think it’s a jam.”

“They will not. It’s depressing as all hell and you know it. Pick another one - literally anything else, and I’ll sing it. I’ll even throw you a dedication.”

“Ugh, the charity,” Steph jokes, and I elbow her in the side. “Alright. Tears in Heaven, then.”

“You want the audience to cry?”

“Hell yes.”

“April, you’re on in 5!” a voice shouts from the hall.

“Shit,” I say, dusting a bit of blush on the apples of my cheeks. “How do I look? Be honest.”

“10 out of 10. If I were into girls, I'd have you up against that wall.”

“I hate you so much,” I say, giggling as we walk out of the bathroom together, arms linked. She sits on her usual stool backstage while I get a drink of water, listening to Owen introduce me from the middle of the stage.

“You all know her. She’s a familiar face with no need for introduction! Please welcome our very own April Skye!”

With confidence that comes with practice, I strut onto the stage and smile into the lights, hoping to make eye contact with a few audience members though I can’t see them very well. “Hi, everybody,” I say, waving my fingers a bit. “Thanks for having me. I’m gonna sing a new song for you tonight that no one’s heard yet. Well, no one but my showerhead and my best friend, that is. This is Praying, originally sung by Kesha. But tonight it’s sung by… me.” I smile and nod towards the sound guy, who turns on the track at just the volume I need it. I sway back and forth, finding my groove as the notes of the piano come through. “ _You almost had me fooled. Told me that I was nothin’ without you. Oh, and after everything you’ve done… I can thank you for how strong I have become._ ”

It’s not often I’m cognizant of what’s going on around me while singing for a crowd. I lose myself in the notes, the lyrics, everything about performing. I get lost in my head as I present this new song, and the whole room is enraptured because of what I’m able to do. It’s a thrill like no other, knowing I can captivate them in such a way.

I come back to my consciousness for the big hit, though, because the song is emotional and I want to put every ounce of myself in the highest note. “ _Sometimes, I pray for you and I… someday, maybe you’ll see the light. Some say, in life you’re gonna get what you give, but some things only God can forgive..._!” The whistle tone that follows earns me uproarious applause and pride swells in my chest from how easily I’m able to reach it, smiling the whole way. I grip the mic and close my eyes, letting it linger as everyone cheers, and end the song with high energy still circling the room.

“Thank you,” I say once I’m done. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to just jump into my next one here. It’s a softer ballad, it’s called Tears in Heaven, originally by Eric Clapton. We’re gonna bring it down a notch, I think. This one’s for you, Stephy.” I flash my best friend a gentle smile and the track comes on; I swallow to bring myself back to center and take a deep breath before beginning. “ _Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven? Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven? I must be strong and carry on, ‘cause I know I don’t belong here in heaven._ ”

The crowd quiets for this one, being that it’s sad and the notes put across a somber vibe. No one rushes to their feet, but if I’m not mistaken I hear a few sniffles in the crowd when I finish.

“Thank you,” I say. “I have just one more. We can lighten the mood a little, how does that sound? My last song is called Human by Christina Perri. I think you guys will like this one.” It doesn’t take me long to prepare this time, given that Human is a selection I commonly choose. It’s an old favorite and one I can sing well. “ _I can hold my breath. I can bite my tongue. I can stay awake for days, if that’s what you want. Be your number one._ ”

When I hit the high notes, people cheer and I once again can’t help my grin. I sing close to the mic but not too close, finishing strong with emotion coursing through my veins as I exit the stage.

“You killed it!” Steph says, giving me a big hug. “Sounded even better than the living room. People were cheering so loud!”

“I heard, oh my god,” I say, still a little breathless. “That high note. How was it?”

“Like Fergie and Jesus,” she says, then we both crack up while heading out of the backstage area and towards the bar.

“Amazing as usual, April Skye,” Owen says, using my stage name with a wink. April Skye Kepner is my legal name, but I hate the simple way ‘April Kepner’ sounds. It doesn’t have that star quality I know I need, and ‘April Skye’ does. Steph always teases me that it sounds like a stripper name, but I argue back that at least it’s not boring like ‘Stephanie Edwards.’

“Thank you,” I say, tone lilting. “Can I get a gin and tonic from you, sir?”

“Anything for the star,” he says, turning around to make the drink.

I’ve just opened my mouth to make a comment to Steph when I feel someone touch my arm. “Excuse me,” a voice says, and I turn around to see an older man I don’t recognize.

“Hi…” I say, feeling Steph poke me subtly in the lower back. I know it’s a lofty dream, but every time I get done with a set I always picture some record company hotshot seeking me out to scout me. Saying they need my voice on an album right this minute and they want nothing more than to whisk me to Hollywood. It’s a little stupid, but it’s not like I go around telling people. Only Steph knows.

“I saw you sing,” he says, nodding towards the stage. “You were pretty awesome.”

“Uh-huh…” I trail off. “Thanks.”

“My name’s Robert,” he says, leaning on the bar and making heavy eye contact. “And you’d be April Skye.”

I furrow my eyebrows a bit, realizing, unfortunately, that he isn’t a scout. He’s just a guy trying to get my number, which isn’t a novel situation. In fact, quite the opposite. “Sorry, not interested,” I say, already turning back around to face Steph.

“I didn’t ask you anything yet,” he says indignantly.

“Sorry, not interested,” I repeat in the same tone, widening my eyes towards my friend.

“Bitch,” he mutters, and I hear him get up without turning to look.

I let out a sigh after Owen sets my drink down, watching his eyes trail the guy who had bothered me. “Need me to kick him out?” he asks.

I nurse the drink and shake my head, watching him maneuver through the crowd with his back towards us. “I already chopped his balls off,” I say. “No need to make it worse.”

…

When Steph and I get home, I notice a piece of paper taped to the door that wasn’t there this morning. “What the hell…” I murmur, pulling it off to take a closer look. It’s a notice about how our rent is going to increase in the following month along with our utilities, which puts the lump sum closer to $200 higher.

“Fuck,” Steph says, reading over my shoulder as we walk inside. My stomach sinks and I scratch my forehead nervously after setting the note down. I can barely make rent as it is; every month is a stretch and during really hard times, Steph has had to cover me until I can get the money. The Grand Luxe doesn’t pay very well, and The Whistler doesn’t pay at all. “April, you okay?” she asks, sounding worried. Probably worried that she’s going to have to save my ass, though I would never ask her to do that.

“I - uh - yeah,” I stammer. “I’m fine. Just… I didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah, I know,” she says. “It sucks. But we’re gonna be okay, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, though there’s not much conviction behind my words and I’m painfully aware of that. I think of the checks from The Grand Luxe that pale in comparison to what I need and if I keep going like this, I’ll get evicted. I’ll have to move back home and work at the hospital, which is not something I’m willing to do. I love my dad, but the idea of living under his roof again is not a pleasant one. I’ve gotten too used to piloting my own life.

“Maybe we can contest it,” Steph suggests. “They sprung it on us. It’s not fair. I… I can get you, the first month, if you need me to.”

“No,” I say firmly. “I’m gonna figure something out. I just need time. By tomorrow, I’ll have it figured out.”

“April, you don’t need to figure it out by tomorrow. You have the rest of the month.”

“It’ll be by tomorrow,” I say, walking towards my room.

“You’re not gonna go on the dark web and sell an organ, are you?” she asks. I know she’s joking, but there’s something in her eyes that isn’t quite laughing.

“No,” I say, scoffing. “Trust me. I always find a way.”

“Alright,” she responds cautiously. “Just please wake up tomorrow with both kidneys.”

I chuckle as I shut the door to my room, then sit down at my desk without bothering to change out of my bar clothes. I draw one knee up and turn on my laptop, opening Indeed to search nearby job listings. It’s clear I won’t make it with just one income; I need to find a supplement. My resume is decently up-to-date, so I upload it and search around, though I’m not quite sure what to look for. I have a degree in nursing, sure, but I’m not about to work at a hospital. It would take up too much time and I’m not willing to sacrifice my happiness for that.

I try to think of another pathway, and click through what feels like hundreds of pages until I come across childcare listings. It’s not something that’s ever crossed my mind - I wasn’t much of a babysitter in high school, I was too involved with the drama club to have time for that. But nannying jobs apparently pay well and they have stable, predictable hours. There’s nothing wrong with trying.

I scroll through listings that involve taking care of multiples, long days with young babies, and live-in situations. I see ads that want multilingual nannies to teach their children French, Spanish and Portuguese, and immediately click out of those. I see ads that require owning a car, which I don’t, so that won’t work. I’m qualified for plenty of things - with a nursing degree, it’s hard not to be - but the problem is that I don’t have experience with kids. My acting classes in high school might have to come in handy because I am desperate for this extra money.

But finally, after hours of searching, I find one that seems reasonable.

 

> _Lakeview family seeking a nurturing, kind, interactive and professional nanny ASAP for a 7-year-old girl. Understanding developmental milestones, willingness to explore parks and create age-appropriate activities is a must._
> 
> _Requirements: CPR/First Aid certification, background check, 3 current and applicable work/character references._
> 
> _$15-20/hour based on experience._
> 
> _5 days a week - 3pm-7pm._
> 
> _Please note, the child is in school 5 days a week, so there is flexibility during the day, but sometimes household help will be needed. Flexibility is key as parent sometimes travels for work and hours are apt to fluctuate (with advanced notice.)_
> 
> _Coursework or a degree in early childhood, child development, education, nursing or a related field preferred._

The last part is all I need to put a seal on whether or not I should apply. It sounds like there’s only one child to a single mom, which means much less for me to worry about. I can handle one kid and one adult. It probably won’t feel like a job at all, and because I have a degree in nursing, I’m guessing they’ll pay me on the higher end of the spectrum. I can’t think of anything better.

But I’m getting too far ahead. I allow myself to continue thinking these things only after I submit my resume, feeling proud that I was able to do so, and close my laptop with hopes that I’ll hear from the mother by morning.

But unfortunately, I don’t wake up to any phone calls or emails and my pride is somewhat wounded in the morning. I go about my normal routine, clean up the house while Steph is at her day job, eating lunch alone on the balcony. Pretty soon, it’ll be too cold to do this, so I soak in the last bit of fall that I can.

Just as I’m finishing my egg salad sandwich, my phone rings with an unsaved number flashing across the top of the screen. “Shit,” I say to myself, wiping my mouth and hurriedly setting my sandwich down. I clear my throat and bring the phone to my ear, saying, “Hello?” while trying not to sound like I was just chewing.

“Hi, I’m looking for an April Kepner?” a male voice says.

I frown, squinting into the distance while wondering who this could be. I don’t give my number out - I don’t allow men to call me unless it’s Owen or Rich. “Uh… I’m April,” I say slowly.

“Oh,” he says. “Well, good. My name is Jackson Avery, I’m responding to the resume you sent to the nanny ad I posted.”

My eyes widen as it dawns on me. I’d been assuming the parent was a single mom, but apparently I was wrong. “Oh, yeah!” I say. “Awesome.”

“Yes,” he says. “I’m very interested in what you have to offer. You’re the only candidate with a background in nursing, and that’s important. It’d be a relief to know my daughter is in capable hands.”

“Of course.”

“So, would you like to come by the house and meet her, have a chat? I don’t want to call it an interview, but we could see if you’re a good fit.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised at how fast this is happening. “Sure, um… sure!”

“Great,” he says. “How does this afternoon sound? She gets out of school at 3 and we’re home by 3:30. I’d love for you to stop by.”

“Definitely,” I say.

“Alright,” he agrees. “Let me give you my address.”

…

As I’m leaving the house and plugging the address into Google maps, I realize I’m headed towards the wealthy part of Lakeview. When I get to their street, Surf Street, I’m overwhelmed by the size of the houses and how much they must cost. Coming from Uptown, this is an entirely different world.

I look for number 639 and stand outside the gate for a few moments after arriving, taking it all in. The house is built with greystone, more regal than anything I’ve ever seen. There’s well-kept foliage in the front yard that I’m guessing is taken care of by a gardener; everything looks cohesive and gorgeous. I can’t imagine living in a place like this. What do you have to do to afford a home so big and beautiful?

“You must be April,” I hear, jumping because of the sudden voice. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I look towards the open front door and see a man standing there - he has bronze skin, trimmed facial hair, and the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen. I’m overcome by all this. I don’t know how to handle it. I’m in over my head and I haven’t even stepped through the door yet. “Hi,” I say, feet rooted in place.

“Come in,” he says. “Please. We just sat down for a snack.” I make my way up the steps and onto the porch where he’s waiting. He extends a hand and I shake it while making eye contact, heart fluttering like a bird inside my chest. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jackson.”

“April,” I say, then shake my head. “But you just said that.”

“It’s alright,” he says, leading me in. “Welcome to our home. I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding us.”

“No, it was fine.”

“Good,” he says, walking further inside. “The little angel is right in here.”We come around the corner to the kitchen area, where a little girl with big, brown eyes is eating apples at a glass table. She has her legs tucked beneath her, wearing a black velvet dress with cap sleeves and white tights. Her hair is tied into a ponytail with a pink bead at the base and her fingernails are painted blue so perfectly they must be professionally done. “This is Athena, my daughter. Thena, this is April. She might be your new nanny.”

“Hi, there,” I say, smiling warmly.

She returns my smile and looks steadily at me, eyes twinkling. “Hi. I’m Athena Violet Avery and I’m 7 years old.”

I laugh a little bit. “Well, aren’t you cute,” I say. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” she says, and shakes my hand. I smile at the gesture and she stands up, her head reaching my ribcage. “How old are you?”

“I’m 24,” I say. “Thank you for asking.”

“I like that age,” she says, grinning. “I like your hair, too. It’s really red. I don’t have hair that color, but I love my hair, too.”

“Your hair is beautiful,” I say genuinely. “I love the pink bead you have.”

“My daddy put that in,” she says. “Sometimes, he’s good at doing my hair, but other times he’s really not.”

“That’s how it goes with dads, I think,” I say with a chuckle.

“You’re wearing pretty makeup,” she says sweetly. “I wish I could put on makeup like that.” She bats her eyelashes at her father standing a few feet away. “Maybe April could teach me how, daddy.”

“And maybe not,” he says. “No makeup ‘til you’re 13.” She pretends to pout, but the expression turns out cuter than she intended, I think. “Let me talk to April in private for a few minutes, little miss,” he says. “Finish your apples.”

I follow him into the next room that has a couch against the wall, and he invites me to sit after doing the same. “Your daughter is very sweet,” I tell him.

He smiles and nods, but wears an expression in his eyes I can’t quite get a hold on. “She’s something,” he says. “I think we might have something good here. Are you interested?”

I raise my eyebrows. I knew it was going well, but I hadn’t expected a decision so quickly. I don’t really know how these types of things work. “Oh,” I say. “Wow. Yes, thank you!”

“Thank _you_ ,” he says. “I’d love for you to start tomorrow. Athena attends Chicago City Day School, over on Hawthorne. Pickup is at 3 sharp, and she appreciates punctuality very much.”

My thoughts are scattered everywhere and I don’t know where to begin. I know I should have questions, but my mind has gone suddenly blank. “Um…” I say, blinking hard. “If you don’t mind me asking, should I meet her mother, too? I know you’re a single parent, but-”

“Her mother is dead,” he says quickly, barely moving his lips. “She’s been gone for a long time. So, please, don’t worry about that.”

“Oh,” I say, a bit shocked. “Okay.”

“I’ll make a list of extracurriculars that Athena can choose from, then I hope I can depend on you to take her to such classes. Homework help would be appreciated, as well as reading practice each night. We’ve been doing it before bed, but it never turns out well. I don’t want her to fall behind.”

“She won’t,” I say. “We can work on all of that.”

“Great,” he says. “And you said you have childcare experience?”

“Um… no,” I admit. “But I do have a degree in nursing.”

“Right,” he says. “Well, that works too.” He flashes me a smile akin to his daughter’s. “I’m looking forward to having your help, April.”

…

“He was _so_ hot,” I say, lying flat on the couch while Steph makes dinner. We trade off on nights we’re both home, and tonight she’s making stir fry. “That’s not why I took the job or anything. But he really, really was.”

“What does he do?” she asks.

“I didn’t ask,” I say. “I forgot. I kept losing my train of thought.”

“‘Cause Daddy made you all hot and bothered?”

“Don’t say that!” I laugh, cackling with my eyes closed. “You can’t say that when he actually has a kid, then it’s just gross.”

“Fine,” she says. “Well, I’m happy you got the job. I didn’t plan on ever visiting you in your cardboard box under the bridge.”

“Coldhearted,” I say, sitting up. “You should’ve seen the little girl, though. She was adorable and so sweet.” Steph nods, looking down at the pan full of rice and vegetables she’s stirring. “What?” I say. “What’s the lack of response?”

“It’s great that she was cute and sweet, but you should be prepared what you’re getting into,” she says.

I groan and throw my head back. “I hate it when you get wise,” I say.

“Listen,” she says. “This girl lost her mother. You’re not gonna go in there acting like substitute mommy, are you?”

“Geez, have a little faith,” I say, glowering. “I lost my mom, too.”

“I know,” she says. “I just don’t want you getting your hopes up that this is gonna be a picture-perfect scenario. Kids aren’t like you see in the movies.”

“I know, Steph,” I say, miffed over her comment. It’s not something we ever talk about, really, my late mom. I don’t talk about it with anyone because it happened a long time ago and I don’t let myself miss her. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, though. That doesn’t mean I don’t know how it feels. I know better than anyone.

I was confident about my first day until Steph said what she did, but I try to push those insecurities away as I stand and wait for my charge to get out of school. I look around at the other nannies and mothers, all dressed very posh, most of them on their phones. Some are talking to one another, socializing in circles I can’t imagine myself fitting into. I look away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring, and watch the door until the bell rings. When it finally does, I study the crowd of uniformed children until Athena comes into view, wearing a green plaid skirt, white knee socks, buckle shoes and a white blouse with a green sweater vest. “Athena!” I call over the numerous heads in front of me. “Athena Avery!”

She makes quick eye contact then darts away. She pushes through the crowd while gripping her backpack straps, stealing glances over her shoulder at me as I’m right on her tail. I can’t run as fast as she can, though, without colliding with innocent bystanders and bulldozing small children.

“Athena!” I shout. “Remember me? It’s April!” She picks up the pace until she reaches a brick wall and can’t go any further. At this point, we’re both out of breath and her chest is heaving, hands flatl behind her. “Why are you running?” I pant.

“Stranger danger! Stranger danger!” she shrieks. “She’s trying to steal me! Help!”

I gawk at her, taken aback by what she’s saying. “You know me!” I insist. “We met. I’m your nanny. Your dad hired me.”

“Stranger danger! Stranger danger!”

I take her hand. “Athena, it’s-”

She screams at the top of her lungs, forcing me to be quiet and drop her hand. She tries to run but ends up face-first into the stomach of a teacher who’s come to see what all the fuss is about. “What is going on here?” she demands.

“She’s trying to steal me, Miss Finch, she’s trying to steal me away! Where’s my daddy?”

“I’m not trying to do anything like that!” I say. “I’m her nanny. I was just hired yesterday. We met yesterday, too, but I guess she doesn’t remember.” I let out a long sigh. “My name is April Kepner. I swear to god, I was hired as her nanny.”

Athena presses her face further into the teacher’s cardigan and away from me. The teacher gives me a knowing look, then pats Athena’s back. “Why don’t we go call your dad and figure all this out?” she suggests.

With Jackson on the phone in the principal’s office, Athena and I are sitting next to each other on hard, plastic chairs. She’s swinging her legs and sucking on a blue lollipop that’s turning her lips the same color. She hums a tune to herself, completely immersed in her own world as I try to keep my frustration in check. I can’t believe she made me look like a kidnapper on my first day.

“Athena,” Miss Finch says. “Your dad wants to talk to you.”

She hops up from the chair, lollipop in tow, and walks behind the secretary’s desk. She spends a good amount of time back there, and when she comes out she’s dragging her feet and looking at me with embers in her eyes. “We have to go home, he said,” she growls.

I stand up and look to Miss Finch, who’s hanging up the phone. “We know you’re her nanny,” she says. “Mr. Avery confirmed it. Athena…” She catches the young girl’s attention. “Do not pull a stunt like this again. It’s very dangerous to cry wolf. How will we know when to really believe you?”

“I don’t care,” she says, turning her head so her voluminous hair bounces in the teacher’s face.

“Hey, no need to be mean to her,” I say.

“I want to go home now,” she demands, and I obediently follow her orders.

We walk out of the school with her backpack looped over one of my shoulders as she stays a few paces ahead of me. “You took your hair out of the ponytail,” I notice.

“I didn’t like the pink bead,” she says. “Where’s your car?”

“No car,” I say. “We’re walking. It’s just a short trip.”

She turns and looks at me wearing an expression much older than her seven years. “You don’t even have a car?” she exclaims. “Are you poor?”

“I don’t have a car because I don’t need one,” I say. “I take public transportation or I walk. It’s good for you. It helps you become more familiar with the city.”

“I don’t care about this dirty city,” she says. “And I don’t wanna walk.”

“I’m sorry, but you don’t have much choice,” I say.

“After today, I’m not walking again!” she shouts, stomping her foot.

“We’ll see.”

The whole way home, I wonder if I should regret my decision about taking this job. This was not what I signed up for - right now, I feel more like a doormat mixed with a correctional officer rather than a nanny. Steph was right, though I don’t plan on giving her that satisfaction. I don’t know if the loss of her mother is what made Athena the way she is, though. To me, it seems like Jackson gives in to her every whim. I’d like to claim that trend stops with me, but I don’t know how to make that happen.

“I want a snack,” she says right when we walk through the front door. The alarm sounds - there’s a key code to shut it off, but Athena gives me no time to do so before getting angry. “That’s so loud! Make it stop!”

“I’m getting there,” I say, trying to remember the number order.

“You’re so slow. It’s 9-7-1-1. My birthday. Duh.”

“Sorry.”

“I want my snack now.”

Taking a deep breath, I make my way into the house towards the snack cupboard. Before I can ask her what she wants, she zips past me and pulls out a packet of fruit snacks, sitting down on the couch with them shortly after. “I don’t know if you’re supposed to be eating those,” I say. “They’re not a very healthy choice. Especially not on the couch.”

“My daddy doesn’t care,” she says. “Plus I’m the boss. You’re _my_ nanny.”

“You are not the boss,” I say.

“Who says?” she counters. “This is my house where I live. Not yours.”

I open my mouth to refute her, then realize I’m arguing with a seven-year-old. I refuse to stoop to that level, so I keep my mouth shut. I can redirect the conversation elsewhere because I’m the adult. I can do this. I’m smart and capable. “Your dad was telling me that we should choose some extracurriculars for you,” I say, padding into the living room where Athena still sits. “What do you think about that?”

“Boring,” she says. “I don’t like doing after school stuff with other kids. They’re all dumb babies.”

“Not everyone is a dumb baby,” I say.

“You are,” she volleys, shooting me a nasty expression. “I don’t even like your hair. I lied.”

“That’s fine,” I say. “You don’t have to like it. But your dad really did want us to pick some activities, so I think that’s what we should do.”

“You do it,” she says.

“If I pick them for you, will you go?”

“No.”

I let out a long sigh of defeat and stop talking, giving in to sit there and listen to the silence in the room. She doesn’t add anything to it either, and after a while she turns the TV on and it stays on until the front door comes open a few hours later. “I’m home!” Jackson calls. He walks through the front entrance and gives me a cordial smile, then looks to his daughter. “Hey. Turn that TV off. Can I get a ‘hi, daddy’?”

“Hi, daddy,” she says, eyes glued to the TV screen.

“Athena Violet,” he says, voice turning stern. “Get that TV off right now. We need to talk.”

“But Daddy…” she whines.

“Now.” I feel stuck between them, like a fixture in the house instead of another person. I want to get out of there, but I think I should talk to Jackson as well. “What you did to April today was unacceptable. And watching TV after school? You know better.”

“I really didn’t know who she was,” she tries. “It was stranger danger.”

“Uh-uh,” he says. “No way. I’ve about had it up to here with your behavior, young lady,” he says, motioning with a flat hand just above his head. “It won’t work anymore. We’ve been through too many nannies for me to fall for this again. Your bad attitude isn’t gonna fly anymore and things around here are gonna change. You are not the boss, Athena.”

She starts to cry, face crumpling as she stands and slams the remote down on the couch cushions. “I hate you!” she shrills. “It’s your fault you get stupid, dumb nannies!”

“Up to your room, now,” he says, pointing. “Now.” With one last shriek, she stomps out of the room and up the stairs, theatrics included. For a long moment, Jackson and I are left in tired silence until he breaks it with a sigh. “I’m sorry about that,” he says. “And about everything. I should’ve warned you, I realize. But I just thought things would be different. I knew she was putting on a show yesterday, but I didn’t know how much. I had no idea she had a trick like ‘stranger danger’ up her sleeve. That’s new.” He rubs his temples. “It’ll get better. I promise, she’s a good kid. She just has her issues, as we all do.” I nod, staring at him. He’s the epitome of exhaustion, standing there in work clothes while looking slumped and lost. I probably look the same, though I did just spend the last two hours zoned out with the TV. At the moment, he definitely has it worse. “She will try to pull the wool over your eyes, but I’ll be more clear on rules. What she is and isn’t allowed to do. Don’t be afraid to be firm.” He meets my gaze. “But if this is too much, I understand.”

I stand up and try to bolster myself with confidence. I’m not sure how well it works - maybe not at all. But I can pretend. “No, I can do it,” I say.

“Okay,” he says, smiling softly as we make our way towards the door. “I promise, tomorrow will be kinder.”

“There won’t _be_ a tomorrow!” Athena shouts from the top of the stairs.

Jackson closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them to look right into mine. An electric shock jolts through me because of it, but I try not to let it show. “Yes, there will,” he assures me. “And it will be kinder.”


	2. Chapter 2

**JACKSON**

After April leaves, I stand in the entryway with heavy shoulders and know my promise might not hold its weight tomorrow. I can hear Athena stomping around in her room, footsteps pounding the floorboards, and sigh to myself. I didn’t necessarily think this transition would be easy, but I hadn’t expected it to be this hard, either. 

I’d love to be the sole caretaker of my daughter, but given how demanding my job is, it’s just not possible. A nanny is imperative to our household running smoothly, but Athena’s behavior always scares them away before they can stick. April’s already lasted longer than a handful of them who left after the first meeting when Athena wasn’t so scarily sweet. That’s not to say she hasn’t put on the angelic act before; April isn’t special in that respect, though I have an inkling she’s special in plenty more areas. 

I’ve raised Athena on my own since her mother died the day she was born. It happened due to complications during childbirth - that’s a day I don’t let myself think about. Of course, that also means avoiding the thought of my brand new, beautiful baby, but it’s a price I have to be willing to pay. I won’t go back and see the look on the doctor’s face as he told me Myla didn’t make it. She lost too much blood and they couldn’t to stop it in time. Her heart gave out. Her body was too weak. She died bringing new life into the world, and I’m not sure if there’s a way for me to accept that. And because I can’t accept it, it stays out of my mind entirely. Life is a lot less painful that way. 

So, because I’m a working father with one income, there’s no way I can work around Athena’s schedule, too. We need help and I readily admit that. But although I’m open to the idea of having a nanny and I have been since Athena was two, she isn’t. She’s pushed away everyone who has ever tried to help us; the longest lasting just over a month. I take breaks in between these occurrences, finding ways to care for her on my own, but work always suffers. And my work can’t suffer. I have nightmares about losing my job and everything we have and ending up on the streets, though I know how unrealistic that is. Having a child has forced my worries to become irrational simply because I’d do anything to keep Athena safe and warm. 

I love her with all I have, but that’t not to say she doesn’t test me daily. And right now is a perfect example of one of those tests. “Thena,” I say, standing outside her bedroom door after slowly making my way up the stairs. “It’s Daddy.” 

“I know who it is,” she says from inside, voice muffled. 

“Will you let me in, please?” I try the door handle and it doesn’t budge. “You know we don’t lock doors in this house.” 

“Well, I already locked it.” 

I take a deep inhale and close my eyes to center myself, willing my temper not to rise. She has the right to be upset, but we need to talk about it. She can’t just shut me out, though that’s always easier. I know where she got the tendency to do so - that’s all me. “Well, can you unlock it?” 

“I can, but I won’t,” she responds.

I lower my eyebrows and rest my forehead against the wood paneling, defeat beginning to surge through my veins. “Athena Violet, I’m only gonna ask one more time.”

“One more time, then what?” she taunts. “You can’t get in.”

“I’ll break it down.” 

“No, you won’t.”

“I’m going to call the police and they’ll break it down.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Thena, please,” I say, realizing that I’m on the brink of begging. This is the point we commonly reach, though I’m not proud to say so. “Just open the door.” 

“No.” 

“If you open the door, I’ll give you five dollars,” I say, shaking my head at myself. It’s low, I know. But I have no other option - I’m grasping for straws. 

“I want ten.” 

“Sure, ten,” I say, then hear the lock click and footsteps scurry away.

I push open the door to find she’d made a fort, blankets strewn between her desk and chair to create a small place she can hide underneath. I know she’s under there only because one small, socked foot is sticking out, soon joined by an open palm. “Money,” she prompts, wiggling her fingers. I exhale loudly and kneel to place the bill in her hand, then she snatches it and retreats, saying, “Okay. Bye, daddy.” 

“Thena, no,” I say, sitting on the edge of her bed a few feet away. “We need to talk about what happened today.” She’s silent and I wonder if she’s even listening. “Did you hear me?” 

“No.” 

“Athena,” I say, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “What you did to April today was unkind. I know you can behave better than that.” 

“No, I can’t.” 

“Yes, you can,” I insist. “From now on, you’re going to treat her fairly and with respect. She’s your nanny, she’s here to take care of you just like I am. You have no reason to be mean to her.”

“Except that I don’t like her,” she follows up. “That’s a reason.”

“That’s no reason to be mean to anyone,” I say, a little stunned. “Where is all this coming from?” 

“Me,” she says. “I don’t like April and I don’t want a nanny. I only want you to take care of me, no one else.” 

“I’m sorry, baby, but that’s just not possible,” I say. “I have to work. You know I wish I could be home with you all the time. But I have to do my job so we can keep living in this house, eating good food, paying-” 

“I don’t care about all that!” she says, still hiding in the fort. I can imagine her face, though; stubborn and indignant. “Other kids at school get picked up by their moms and dads. Only the idiots get picked up by nannies.” 

“Hey,” I say sternly. “We don’t say that word.” 

“I was calling it to myself, so I can say it,” she says.

“No, you can’t, and you’re not an idiot,” I say. “Don’t say it again. Don’t use it at all. This isn’t up for discussion, Thena. Tomorrow will be better with April. I know you can make it good.” 

“I don’t want to, though,” she says. “I don’t want her.”

“That’s too bad,” I say. 

“You’re too bad,” she counters. “Go out of my room now. I don’t want to talk anymore.” 

I stand up, eyeing the fort. “Did you get your homework done, at least?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Alright,” I say, hanging my head as I walk out. “Well, I’m making dinner. What sounds good?” 

“Nothing.”

“Athena-”

“Just put my CD on!” she whines. “I don’t want dinner. I just want you to put my CD on.” 

Without words, I walk to the radio that sits on her low bookshelf and pop open the holster to place the CD inside. It’s labeled ‘Classical Favorites’ in loopy script, her mother’s script. Athena doesn’t know it was created by Myla, but all the songs were picked by her. She used to rest headphones over her baby bump before Athena was born and play this music - it’s been a soothing tactic for my daughter since she was in the womb. But bringing up the fact that these were her mother’s favorite songs would only rip open a wound that’s been long since scarred over. It wouldn’t be fair. 

“The CD, daddy!” she shrieks.

“It’s in,” I say, closing the lid and listening to only the first few notes before turning on my heel to exit the room. The songs are too difficult for me to hear - they bring me back to a time I don’t like remembering. “Dinner in a half hour.” 

“I’m staying in here.” 

I don’t bother responding any further, I just leave the room with a hollow sense of emptiness in my chest that threatens to permeate throughout my entire body. I take the stairs slowly, skimming a hand down the railing, and find myself in the kitchen with a blank palette of ideas. Nothing sounds good, but I force myself to make salmon and red potatoes, hoping the smell will attract Athena downstairs. It doesn’t work, though; I end up eating alone at the dining room table even though I set a plate out for her. It goes untouched and I put a sheet of Saran wrap over it and put it in the fridge once I’m finished, realizing for the first time in a while how lonely the house feels. It’s not usually something I’m conscious of, but tonight it’s like an empty vessel. Athena and I are a thousand miles apart and it dawns on me that I don’t have anyone to talk to. 

When I change into more comfortable clothes, I see that the light in Athena’s room is still on with subtle notes still playing. The CD is long. Without stopping at my daughter’s bedroom, I go back downstairs and turn on the TV to try to find something of interest. I flip through the channels until I land on a mindless drama that doesn’t take much brainpower. As I stare at the screen, I don’t put any thought into the show but instead the red-haired nanny I last saw a couple hours ago. There was something about her that I can’t quite put my finger on; something familiar, something I’m drawn to, but I have no idea what it is. I almost feel like we’ve already met, like I’ve seen her somewhere, like she has the propensity to become a big part of Athena’s life. That’s probably wishful thinking - I just want my daughter to have a nanny who she likes and who likes her - and April seems like a good fit. I don’t want her to go anywhere, so I plan on giving her all the encouragement to stay. It also helps that she’s quite pretty, but I won’t let myself think like that. That’s inappropriate and I would never make her uncomfortable. Officially, I’m her employer. That’s a boundary I can’t and won’t breach. 

Later, I’m in deep writing a report for work when I hear soft footsteps come down the stairs and around the corner, then I see Athena standing in the living room rubbing her eyes. She’s wearing a thermal set of pajamas, pink and decorated with tiny clouds, with her favorite dilapidated stuffed bunny in one hand. “Daddy…?” she rasps, squinting against the light.

“Thena,” I say, sitting up straight. “What is it?” 

“Daddy,” she says, shuffling closer. “My CD turned off. It got done.” 

“Alright,” I say, standing. “Let’s go upstairs and turn it back on.” 

“Wait,” she says, reaching her arms out for me. “Can I stay down here and fall asleep with you?” she asks, blinking those big brown eyes. “I wanna sit with you.” 

I glance at the clock and see it’s past midnight. “No, sweetie,” I say. “Come on. It’s really late. Let’s go back upstairs.” 

I take her hand and lead her towards the stairs, but she walks slowly with the bunny clutched close to her chest. “Carry me, daddy?” she peeps.

“You’re too big for that, Thena, come on,” I say, nodding her along. “Let’s go up to bed.” 

She follows close behind and gets in bed while I fiddle with the radio, restarting the CD easily. The familiar notes fill the room and I have the urge to leave as soon as I can, so I head towards the door only seconds later. “Daddy,” she murmurs from under the covers. “Will you lay down with me ‘til I fall asleep?”

“Not tonight, honey,” I say, lingering with one foot in the hallway as the first song progresses and slips inside my consciousness. “I have work to do.”

“How about come up after your work is done?”

“Not tonight,” I repeat. “You just go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

She blinks once, then rolls over so the back of her curly-haired head is facing me instead. I keep my eyes on her for a second longer, feeling a deep sadness in my gut that I’m not sure how to get rid of. I sigh softly, knowing there’s nothing I can do, and turn her overhead light off. I have to get back to the work I’d left behind. 

…

Getting Athena ready for school in the morning is a huge task; we’re lucky if we both make it on time to school and work. Though she puts on the same uniform every day, she’d rather busy herself doing much of anything else other than getting dressed and preparing for the day. I’m the one who ends up packing her backpack, making her lunch, laying out her clothes, doing her hair, and getting breakfast on the table. After all of that, I have to rush like a maniac to put myself together. I’ve tried what feels like a thousand times to get her to pull some weight as she’s gotten older, but she still demands to be waited on. 

“Ow, Daddy, you’re hurting me! Stop!” 

“If you want half-done hair, I’ll gladly stop,” I snap, hair ties held between my teeth. “I’m almost done.” She reaches up to hold her head and I move her hand away. “Leave it alone,” I say. 

I fashion her hair into two thick braids with pink beads on the ends and she scowls after they’re done. “I don’t  _ like _ pink beads,” she insists.

“Since when?” I ask. 

“Since they’re ugly,” she growls, moving to yank them out. 

“You take out those beads and I’ll have to start all over,” I say. She keeps eye contact with me, a hand on the end of each braid, then pulls. The beads clatter to the floor and I stare at her, rage boiling deep inside me. “Damn it, Athena,” I say. “What did I just tell you?” 

“And I told  _ you _ I don’t like pink beads!” she argues. 

I rifle through the bin of hair supplies until I come out with two purples ones that I hastily tie to the end of her braids in place of the pink. Her hair isn’t so neat anymore, but it’ll have to do. “Alright,” I say, ignoring the argument for the sake of time. “Get your shoes. We’re gonna be late.” 

“We’re late all the time. It doesn’t matter.” 

“It does matter,” I say. “We’re gonna try not to be late so much anymore.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s not a good habit,” I say. 

Eventually, I get her out the door and into the car. By the time we pull up to Chicago City Day School, the first bell has already rung but she’s not technically late yet. “I don’t wanna go in,” Athena says suddenly. 

“What are you talking about?” I ask, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “You love learning at school.” 

“I don’t even learn ‘cause I already know all the stuff my teacher says,” she claims. “I don’t like it.”

“Well, maybe we can look into getting you in some advanced classes,” I say. “But until then, out of the car. You’re going.” 

She crosses her arms. “No.” 

“Athena, why?” I plead. 

She gives me a steely look. “I’ll only go if you come pick me up. Not April.” 

Seeing this avenue as my only way out, I decide to do something I know I’ll regret later. “I will,” I say. “Alright? Now, please, you have to get in there.” 

Satisfied with herself and blissfully unaware of my fib, Athena gathers her backpack, unbuckles herself, and hops out of the car. “Bye-bye, daddy!” she calls, standing on the curb where a crossing guard is waiting. “See you after school!” 

Sitting at my desk a few hours later, I can’t stop thinking about what’s to come for April when Athena sees I’m not there. I set her up for failure, that is much is clear, but there’s no way to fix it after I’ve already made the mistake. All I can do is make a promise to myself not to lie to Athena again. It was only to get myself out of a fight; in making my situation easier, I made April’s ten times harder.

I don’t get any phone calls from the school once it lets out, which is a bit of a relief. At least my daughter didn’t pull the same stunt she did yesterday. I can’t help but count that as a win as I gather my things and get ready to head home later in the evening, being that it’s near 7 and time for me to relieve April of what was probably a horrible afternoon.

When I walk through the front door, there’s a pleasant smell coming from the kitchen and the house is quiet. “Hello?” I call out. 

“In here,” April replies, and the casual, domestic response makes something strange flutter in my stomach. But all I can do is pinch my eyes shut, shake my head, and ignore it. It’s beyond stupid. 

I set my things down and hang up my coat, following her voice. When I get into the kitchen, I see she’s sauteing sausage in a pan and boiling pasta on the stove; the scent makes my stomach growl. “Hey,” I say, a bit breathless as I lean on the center island. “Where’s Thena? How was your guys’ day?” 

She looks at me over her shoulder wearing an expression I can’t quite push through. There’s a smile on her face, but it’s thin and doesn’t convince me for a second. “Fine,” she answers. “I think Athena is reading behind the couch.” 

“Behind the couch, huh,” I say, walking into the living room where the couch sits in front of a bay window. There’s space between it and the wall, a perfect place for my small child to fit. “Thena,” I say. “I’m home.” I hear the sound of paper rustling and when I look behind the couch she doesn’t look up at me. She’s doing something with her hands, though I can’t very well see what. “Did you have a good day?” I ask. All she does is shrug. “April said you were reading. Are you? What are you up to back here?” 

“You lied,” she spits, staring down at whatever’s in her hands instead of me. She’s ripping something, I think, but I can’t see what. Her face tightens and darkens at once as she repeats herself, saying, “You lied. Liar.” 

“I know I told you something different this morning,” I say. “I’m sorry. I really am.” 

“You don’t even mean it that you’re sorry ‘cause you’re just lying again!” she exclaims. “I don’t believe you. Liar.” 

“Athena, I made it a mistake. It’s not nice to call names.” 

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” she says, tilting her head side-to-side while ripping the paper more forcefully. “Go away, liar.” 

I sigh and lift up from my knees, standing to my full height while pinching the bridge of my nose. I go back into the kitchen where April is stirring the pasta, watching me with wide eyes. “Was she reading?” she asks. 

“No,” I say. “She was calling me names.” 

“I’ve been trying to get her to stop,” April says. “I’m sorry.” 

“I deserve it,” I say. “I did tell her I’d be there to pick her up if only to get her out of the car this morning. She was about to be late, I felt like I had no other choice. I’m sorry.” 

She shrugs and faces the pot again, staring at the frothy water. I feel like she and I aren’t off to a very good start, which isn’t what I hoped for. “I just think her feelings were hurt,” she notes. 

“I can’t seem to do anything right lately,” I say. “That’s on me. I know I need to be better.” April nods slightly, not necessarily agreeing but acknowledging that she heard me. “What else did you two get up to today?” 

“Not much,” she answers. “We came home after fighting about whether or not to walk, which means we didn’t get here ‘til about 4:30. Then we had a snack… well, I had a snack. She wouldn’t eat and still hasn’t eaten.” She gestures towards the untouched pear sitting on the table in the breakfast nook. “Then, I started dinner and she told me she was going to read behind the couch. That was about a half hour ago. I haven’t seen her since.” 

“The good news is she’s alive,” I say, attempting to joke. April smiles weakly. She looks tired; I can tell this is wearing on her and it’s only the second day. I feel awful but have no idea how to fix it. “Look, I know Athena can be a lot,” I say. “She has a hard time expressing herself and she’s used to getting her way. But I really did mean what I said yesterday, I do think it’ll get better.” 

April nods again and turns off the range. “Dinner’s ready,” she says. “Does she want to eat?” 

As if on cue, Athena appears in the kitchen next to the island with something small and red held in one hand. “I want dinner,” she says, then tosses it down. 

When I glance at it, I see it’s a shell of a book. There’s no image on the front or back, so my guess is that it was, at one point, a notebook. But by the looks of it, the pages have been ripped out to leave only pitiful shreds connected to the spine. “Thena, what is this?” I ask, picking it up gingerly from the floor. 

“I don’t know,” she says, hopping up onto a stool at the counter. “I just found it.” 

“You found it?” I ask. “Where?”

“I don’t know.” 

April finishes dishing Athena her dinner - fresh pasta and sausage with alfredo sauce - and places the dishes back on the stove. Curiously, she looks at what I’m holding and instantly, her eyes widen in shock. “Oh, my…” she breathes, taking one tentative step in my direction. “That’s…” 

The blood drains from my face as I take in her reaction. “Shit,” I say. “Is this yours?”

“Yeah,” she answers, reaching for it. 

“Athena Violet,” I say, turning towards my daughter who’s just begun to eat what’s in front of her. Now, I realize what she was ripping behind the couch and I feel sick - I let her do it, I stood there and watched her. 

“What?” she says innocently. 

“You ripped up April’s notebook for no good reason,” I say. “Go up to your room right now.” 

“No!” she says. “I just started eating ‘cause I’m hungry. She didn’t even give me a snack today, she starved me!” 

April doesn’t respond; her eyes are still on the cover of the notebook which I can now see says ‘Songbook’ in pretty cursive. Shit, shit, shit. “It’s okay…” she begins, but I stop her. 

“No, it’s not okay,” I say. “Athena, upstairs. Now.” 

“No!” she screams at the top of her lungs, face turning red. “You can’t make me!” 

“Oh, yes I can,” I say, marching over to where she sits at the counter and plucking her from the stool. I hold her on my hip as she kicks and flails, throwing her body around in an attempt to work herself out of my grip. 

“Daddy, let me down!” she screeches, but I don’t relent. I breeze past April and walk with purpose towards the stairs, though it’s hard to make it up with Athena trying everything in her power to assure that I don’t. I get about halfway before she wriggles away and runs down to the first floor, retreating behind the couch once again where she hides in the smallest crevice she can find. 

“Athena, come out,” I say, feeling desperate. “I’m not playing this game with you.” 

“I want to eat my dinner.” 

“Then you need to apologize to April,” I say, trying to find some way to make this better. “It was wrong, what you did.” 

“I didn’t know it was hers. She wasn’t using it.”

“Thena, don’t lie.” 

“You did!”

I sigh and let my lips puff out, unable to come up with an argument to counter that one. She isn’t wrong. Even though our wrongdoings don’t match up, she’s still not wrong. “Please, just apologize to her,” I say. 

“Sorry.” 

“Where she can hear you,” I say firmly. “To her face.” 

“If I do that, can I eat my dinner?” 

“Yes.” 

She slinks out from behind the couch, half a slice of paper in one hand. She glowers as she passes and I follow her closely back to the kitchen where April still stands next to the island, red cover in her hands. “Sorry,” Athena says pathetically, without any conviction behind her words. “I saved this part.” 

She hands her the torn piece of paper and April looks at it for a brief moment, sniffling as if she’s trying not to cry. “Thanks, Athena,” she says, then makes eye contact with me. “I think I should probably get going.”

“I’ll walk you out,” I say. “Thena, eat please.” 

I stand near the steps while April puts her shoes on and try to come up with something to say. My throat is dry and palms sweaty when I finally manage to speak. “I’m really sorry about what she did,” I say. “Really.”

“It’s okay,” April says. 

“It’s not, though,” I say. “I know it’s not. Something needs to be done, and I’m still trying to figure out what that ‘something’ is.” April nods. “I saw on the cover that it was a songbook. Do you… write songs?” 

She shakes her head and her hair follows suit. “No,” she says. “But I sing. I keep track… well, I used to, of everything I’ve sung in that book. And everything I want to sing, or am singing currently.” 

“Oh, you’re a singer?” I say. 

She shrugs a bit. “At night, sometimes. At a bar. It’s just something I do on the side.” 

“You sound pretty serious about it,” I say. “If you’re so organized. That’s a commendable thing to be.” 

“Thanks.”

“Really, I insist on getting you a new book. I don’t know why she would do something like that. I’d say it’s not like her, but…” 

“I promise, it’s okay,” she says. “I can get one myself.”

“Please,” I say. “Let me. It’s the least I can do.” She makes an expression that’s not really a yes or a no, but once again something I have trouble reading. She wipes beneath her eyes and something pangs in my heart - it’s obvious that what Athena really hurt her. This book must have been special, more special than I realize. “I am sorry,” I say. 

“I’ll be fine,” she says. “It was just paper. But I guess… a lot of memories, too. I’ve played and sung a lot of songs, and I’ve been keeping track of them for years. Well, it’s not that I was so much keeping track of them, just… remembering. But it’s okay. I still have them all in my head.” 

“What bar do you sing at?” I ask, trying to make this conversation easier. Her eyes still shine, and I don’t want her to start crying as soon as she walks out the door. I won’t be able to stop thinking about it if that’s the case. 

“It’s called The Whistler,” she says. “On Milwaukee, over in Logan Square.”

“Nice area,” I say.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ve been singing there for a couple years now. They all know me.”

“That sounds great,” I say, smiling. I can actually picture her on stage with a microphone, the image comes naturally. She’s mild-mannered in this atmosphere, but something tells me she has a good amount of stage presence. I’d love to hear her sing live. Now, I feel even worse about the notebook. “I’m sure you’re very good.” 

“I don’t know,” she says modestly, then meets my eyes. “Do you sing?” she asks, nodding towards the white grand piano that sits on the far wall of the front room. It’s only used for decoration, it hasn’t been touched in years and years. Most of the time, I forget it’s there. It’s funny that she would assume I sing because of it. 

“In a different lifetime,” I say, laughing. “Yesteryear. Haven’t thought about it for ages. You’re kind to think so, though.” 

“Oh,” she says, seemingly a bit confused. “Do you play, then? The piano?” 

“Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head with the corners of my lips turned down. “No, no. That thing’s just there for show. I’m not sure if it’s even been opened during Thena’s lifetime.” 

“Oh,” April says again, both hands gripping her small, black purse. “Well, I should go now,” she says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“I want to promise that it’ll be better,” I say. “But that fell through last time. So, here’s a promise that I’m going to  _ try _ and make it better.” 

She smiles a little, a real one. It’s nice to see in comparison to the somber state of her face from before. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll try, too.” 

I give her a nod and shut the door, turning to find Athena standing in the doorway of the kitchen, the warm, yellow light shining behind her. I give her a questioning look as I approach and see that her eyes are glassy and she’s on the verge of tears. Even her chin is wobbling. I haven’t seen her cry tears of sadness in a long time, but I’m not sure that’s what this is. I don’t know what’s happening. “Babe,” I say, kneeling to her level. “What is it?”

“I was bad,” she says, strings of spit clinging between her top and bottom lip. “I’m bad and that’s why Mommy went away and died.” 

My eyebrows instinctively raise with feeling as I pull her close, and she falls against me for the first time in a while. She throws her arms around my shoulders and holds tight, pressing her face into my neck as she cries. “No, baby,” I say. “No, no, no.” 

“But I was bad,” she says. “All the time. And she’s still gone.”

“That’s how being dead works, sweetie,” I say. “She didn’t die because you were bad.” 

“But I made her die,” she whimpers - she knows that her mother died while delivering her. 

“You didn’t,” I say. “Don’t say things like that. You know that’s not true.” 

She doesn’t say anything else - positive or negative. Instead, she just leans all of her weight against me and cries harder than I’ve heard in a long time, and I don’t know how to fix it. I’m not sure how this situation continues to get more and more complicated, but it seems there will always be a way. 

…

“Jackson. What’s wrong with Thena?” 

I look to my sister, Maggie, as I stand across from her at the kitchen table. It’s her son, James’, birthday today and we’ve just finished eating cake and ice cream at his party at their house. Our parents are here, along with her other kids - Nyla and Liam. And of course, me and Athena. “Huh?” I say, zoned out. 

“I said, what’s wrong with Thena?” she presses, eyebrows low as she gathers a stack of paper plates. “Just look at her.” She nods towards the backyard where James, Liam and Nyla are jumping on the trampoline hard enough to make each other fall, laughing along the way. Athena isn’t with them, though. Instead, she’s sitting in the grass with her back against a tree, plucking at the grass with a downturned face. “And she didn’t even touch her cake. That’s not like her.” 

“I don’t know,” I say with a groan. “We’ve been going through a lot lately.” 

“We?” Maggie asks, eyebrows up. “Both of you? What’s been going on?” 

“Well, I hired a new nanny.”

“What are you on, number 30 now?” she says - worded like a joke but with none of the inflection.

“Ha,” I say. “I don’t know what number she is, but Athena is hellbent on making her quit. She acted like she was being kidnapped on the first day and ripped up her notebook on the second. I don’t know where all this is coming from.” 

“Oh, I have  _ no _ idea,” Maggie says sarcastically. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap. 

She shoots me a look. “Oh, come on, Jackson. Really?”

“What, really!” I exclaim. 

“Don’t you see how unhappy she is?” she asks. “Look at her. Look at your daughter.” 

“I see my daughter every day, yes, I know what she looks like.” 

“She wants to be with you!” Maggie insists. “She wants your attention; that’s what she’s trying to do.” 

I squint at my sister. “She gets plenty of attention. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Then why is she lashing out at every single nanny you hire?” she pushes. “Maybe, so they’ll quit and she can spend more time with you. I swear, you don’t think.” 

“I do think, thank you very much, and you’re wrong.” 

“If I’m wrong, then what’s your brainchild idea as to why she’s acting the way she is?” she asks.

I huff. “If she wants my attention so bad, how come she acts out in the same way while she’s with me? And how come it’s worse now than ever?” 

“Because she’s older,” Maggie answers. “She’s more aware of what behaviors get certain outcomes. And she acts the same way around you because it’s still getting your attention, no matter how negative.” 

I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s it. I’m not one of those parents who never sees their kid. I see her every night. I get her ready for school in the mornings.” 

“When do you guys have fun?” 

“We have fun.” 

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know, Maggie, Jesus!” I explode. “I’ve had enough of the third degree, Christ, you sound like Mom.” 

“Who sounds like me?” our mom says, coming around the corner with a dubious expression on her face. “My ears were ringing. Now, I know why.” 

“Jackson isn’t spending enough time with Athena,” Maggie spills. 

“I am-”

“Well, anyone with eyes can see that,” my mom says. “What started this conversation?”

“Fuck!” I curse, slamming the lid to the garbage can shut. “Since when do either of you know the ins and outs of my life? You don’t know what it’s like at our house. It’s not like you ever come over.”

“It’s not like you ever invite us,” Mom counters. 

“I don’t have the time!” 

“See,” Maggie says, raising her eyebrows again. “You don’t have time for much, do you? Besides work.” 

“I spend time with my daughter,” I growl, eyes on fire. “You two can sit on your pedestals and pretend like you’re perfect parents who never make mistakes. Sure. Go ahead. That’s not me - I make mistakes, but I love my little girl.” 

“No one’s saying you don’t love her, Jackson, god,” Maggie says. “You’re so dramatic. We’re trying to help you, but here you are getting all defensive. Wonder why.” 

“I told you years ago that putting a stop to the revolving door of nannies would do that baby some good,” Mom says. 

“Nothing is wrong with needing help,” I say. “So, I hired April for that help.” 

“But at what cost to Athena?” 

“Why are you talking about April?” Athena asks, having come in through the screen door without any of us hearing. “I heard you say her name.” 

“Nothing, baby,” I say, one hand in the middle of her shoulder blades while I glare at my mom and sister. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Do Grandma and Aunt Maggie know her?” Athena asks. 

“No,” I say. “But they’d like to. I was telling them how nice she is, and they said they’d love to meet her.” 

“No, you don’t,” Athena says. “She’s not nice and I don’t like her, so you won’t either. Daddy likes her a lot, though.” 

“Okay, we are leaving,” I say, interrupting before she can dig my grave any deeper. 

“I don’t wanna go, though,” my daughter whines, flashing a pleading expression towards the two women in the kitchen. “Tell him to let me stay. Please?”

“I said we’re going,” I say, ushering her towards the door. “I need to get out of here, and that’s the final answer.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**APRIL**

As I walk up to our third floor apartment, my eyes burn and the dam inside me threatens to burst. Steph shouldn’t be home - I think she works tonight - so I plan on having a good, solitary cry once I get through the door. Or maybe even before, judging at how big the lump in my throat is.

When I push through the door and put down my things in a haphazard pile, I’m already crying. Without wiping my cheeks, either - there’s not much to be done about the tears streaming down my face and my hiccuping sobs. The ferocity of it surprises even me; I knew that the destruction of my notebook got to me, but I wasn’t aware of just how much. It’s not like it was priceless or gifted to me by anyone special, but it was something I held close. I would carry it everywhere and write down song titles, past, present and future. It felt like a culmination of who I am as an artist, and now that it’s gone I feel a tiny hole in my heart.

“April?” I hear, then see Steph’s head pop up over the back of the couch. She’s been sitting right there with a book, bearing witness to my breakdown upon coming inside. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

I shake my head and pinch my eyes shut, furrowing my eyebrows to create wrinkles on my forehead. “I’m fine,” I say. “I just - I just had a hard day.”

“A hard day…?” she says, coming over to me. “What happened? Catch your breath.” I try and take a deep inhale, but it doesn’t work in the way I imagined. I rest a hand on my throat and exhale in a series of sobs, falling against Steph’s frame only seconds later. “Oh, honey. Here… let’s get your coat and shoes off.”

She helps me set my shoes to the side and hangs up my coat, placing one hand on my back after everything is taken care of. “I’m sorry,” I blubber, throwing my arms over her shoulders again.

“Come here,” she says. “I’ll get some tissues and you can tell me what happened.”

We end up in my room with my soft, white lights on, lying atop my comforter on my queen-sized bed. Steph lies on her back and doesn’t watch me, which I appreciate, and I keep my eyes on the ceiling fan while the tears continue. “You were right,” I say, finally able to piece my thoughts into coherent sentences. “When you said it wasn’t gonna be easy. You were right.”

“Talk to me.”

“She’s a monster!” I exclaim, but feel bad instantly after. “She’s not a monster. She’s just a little kid. But the way she’s acting is like a monster.”

“What did she do?”

I sniffle and wipe my nose with the back of my hand, looking over at Steph with just my eyes. She’s turned on her side now, head head propped up with one hand as she watches and waits for me to delve into the story. “She hates me,” I say. “She doesn’t want me around. Today, she was mad at her dad for lying to her so she took it out on me. And my notebook.”

“What did she do to the notebook?” Steph asks.

I sigh and it comes out rickety and broken. “She ripped out all the pages,” I say. “Tore them up. I lost everything.”

“Shit, you’re kidding me,” she says, genuinely appalled. I shake my head no. “Oh, April, I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” I say, covering my face with both hands. “I wanted to cry. I almost did, right in front of him. But I held it together. He was really nice about it… he offered to buy me a new one, but I turned him down. He said he’s gonna try and make things better, though.”

“Didn’t he already say that once?” she asks and I nod. “You know, you don’t owe them anything. You don’t have an obligation to stay. If you’re not happy and this little terror is making your life hell, you’re allowed to leave.”

I blink, drying my eyelashes, and watch the fan as an answer culminates in my head. “I don’t want to do that,” I say.

“Why?” Steph pushes. “April, don’t be a martyr.”

“I’m not,” I say.

“You don’t have to save her,” she continues, then pauses poignantly before saying, “Or him.”

I chew the inside of my cheek and take a deep breath. “I’m not trying to,” I say.

“Then what’s making you stay? It’s only your second day and you’re already so unhappy.”

“But it is only my second day,” I echo. “I just don’t feel like I can make a judgment yet. She’s so young. I do feel bad for her.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I say. “I don’t know. Kids don’t just wake up one day and decide to act horrible. It’s a learned behavior. There’s a reason why she’s doing it. It’s not her fault.”

“Then it’s his, and he’s a shitty parent. Why is it your job to fix what he broke?”

“It’s not,” I say. “I just want to help. I want to try, at least.”

“Sometimes, I don’t understand you,” she says.

“You grew up with your mother around,” I say, laying it all out there while turning to meet her eyes. “You grew up with a mom and a dad in a happy household. Things were different for me. I didn’t have my mom just like Athena doesn’t.”

Steph’s expression falters. “You’re right,” she says more submissively. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s easy to forget,” I say. “You didn’t know me before, when everything was wrong. I lived life like Athena does. I know how it feels. I was angry, too. Angry and so… helpless. When you’re in that situation, when you’re a little girl without a mom, it feels like you’re on the outskirts of everyone else’s life. You always get second best. On Mother’s Day, I celebrated with my aunt, but she has kids of her own who she’s actually a mother to. I was never treated differently in my family, but I still felt it. When I got my first period, I dealt with it on my own. I couldn’t talk to my dad about that. And I was so angry. Why was my life so hard because of something out of my control?” My face heats up. I don’t talk about this often. I usually try to forget that I lost my mother. “Then, you start to feel like maybe it was your fault. Maybe if things were a little different, a little better… no matter how stupid it sounds.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid,” Steph assures me quietly.

I cross my arms over my stomach and close my eyes for a moment. “I guess I can see myself in her,” I say. “In how she thinks and what she does. I’m not trying to save her, but… when I was little, I would’ve liked to know that I wasn’t alone in the world. I didn’t figure that out ‘til I met you. I don’t want Athena to have to wait that long.”

“I don’t know a single other person like you,” Steph says, holding my wrist while wearing a smile. “But I don’t want you to break yourself for them. Don’t do that.”

“I won’t,” I say. “At least, I’ll try not to.”

“You have such a big heart,” she says. “I don’t want that little girl to break it.”

“No,” I say, wrinkling my forehead as I let my eyes roam back to the ceiling. “Back then, when I was young and had just lost my mother, music put me back together. I could’ve had an awful day at school, sat alone at lunch like always, gotten picked on at recess, but once I got home and sat down to play, none of it mattered. Music was my thing. It was my escape. I want to help Athena find her escape. Then, maybe she’ll stop hating the world. She can let some of that anger go.”

“I hope her shitty dad knows how lucky he is to have you,” she comments.

“He isn’t shitty,” I say, frowning slightly. “He’s really not.”

She sits up and crosses her legs, leaning forward onto her elbows. “He sounds kinda shitty,” she says. I don’t bother refuting her again; she’s never met him, she doesn’t know. I don’t know Jackson that well, either, but I can tell he’s not a bad person. “We should get out of here,” she says, changing the subject. “Get your mind off all this. You wanna hit up The Whistler?”

“I’m not on the list tonight,” I say.

“Just to watch,” she says.

Less than an hour later, we’re at The Whistler dressed in much nicer clothes than before and Owen is so happy to see me that he cleared a spot on the schedule to get me a small slot. “You’d deserve it after a great day,” he tells me. “But after a shitty one? Oh, honey. My heart’s yours. Take the slot.”

While Steph and I wait for my turn, we sit among the audience and take in a view we never get to see. Usually, we’re on stage and if not, we’re behind the curtain watching the other perform. It’s a nice change, being here, and it relaxes and grounds me in a way I don’t think anything else could. “Thanks for bringing me here,” I say, leaning over after someone finishes their set. “I feel good.”

“Of course you do,” she says with a smile, then nods towards the stage. “You better go. I think you’re up next.”

Because I didn’t get a chance to prepare, I’ve decided to pull out an old favorite to sing tonight. It’s one that’s been in my family since I was a child, and it’s held a place in my repertoire ever since. A surge of joy pulses through me as I step onto the stage and smile into the crowd, wrapping my hands around the mic stand that I don’t plan on moving tonight. “Hi guys,” I say. “I’m April Skye. I’m just gonna sing one song for you tonight. This is Vincent by Don McLean.” The lights dim and I take a deep breath, listening to the beginning notes drift through the air. “ _Starry, starry night… paint your palette blue and gray… look out on a summer’s day… with eyes that know the darkness in my soul…_ ” I smile through the lyrics; having not sung this song for a while, the familiar sentiment it brings comes rushing back. It’s a sad song, one that always tugs on my heart, but it’s so close to me that it feels like an old friend. “ _Starry, starry night… flaming flowers that brightly blaze… swirling clouds and violet haze… reflectin’ Vincent’s eyes of China blue… colors changing hue… morning fields of amber grain… weathered faces lined in pain… are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand. Now, I understand… what you tried to say to me, how you suffered for your sanity, and how you tried to set them free… they would not listen, they did not know how… perhaps, they’ll listen now._ ” The strumming of the live guitar envelops me in a warm blanket, and just like that the first half of the day washes away. Right now, all that matters is my existence right here, where I’m singing this song for people who love watching me. “ _And when no hope was left inside on that starry, starry night, you took your life as lovers often do… but I could’ve told you, Vincent, this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you._ ”

When I finish, applause wash the stage and I can’t help the wide grin that erupts on my face - so powerful it makes my cheeks hurt. I walk back into the crowd and find Steph who gives me a huge hug, holding on until I hear someone else say my name. “Well, Miss April, I didn’t know you had pipes like that.”

I lift my head to see my boss from The Grand Luxe, Richard, standing nearby with a big smile on his face. “Rich!” I say excitedly. “What are you doing here?”

“I like to come here for a drink once in an odd night,” he says. “I didn’t know you sang here. I’m surprised I haven’t caught you before. It was beautiful, and I mean that. I was moved. Touched.”

“Well, thanks,” I say bashfully. “If I’d known you were here, I would’ve asked you for a request.”

“I very well may have picked that exact song,” he says, raising his glass a bit. “It’s my son’s favorite. Has been for years.”

“We’re alike in that respect, then,” I say, grinning. “I’ve loved that song for as long as I can remember. My mom used to sing it to me.”

“That’s lovely,” he says. “If I remember right, he even named his daughter after one of the verses. Violet, something?”

“Swirling clouds and violet haze,” I say softly. “Beautiful.”

“You’d like him,” Rich says, encouraging the subject. “He’s a good kid. Well, not a kid. A man. He’s a good man.”

I feel my cheeks heat up with the onset of a blush, and I laugh good-naturedly. “Rich, are you trying to set me up?” I ask jokingly.

“Hey,” he says. “No harm in it. I gotta look out for my boy! I know you’re good people. He is, too.”

“I appreciate it,” I say, smile still lingering. “But I’m happily single, not looking for anyone right now.”

“Alright,” he says. “I respect that. I won’t go throwing your number around. But don’t forget about him whenever you do start looking.”

“Rich...” I say, eyeing him.

“Alright,” he laughs. “I get it. Anyway, it was a joy to hear you sing. No wonder you’re always humming at the piano, miss. A voice like that shouldn’t be contained.”

“Thanks, Rich,” I say. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m on the brunch shift.”

“You really did kill it,” Steph says after Rich leaves. “You feeling better now?”

“Yeah,” I say, completely truthful. “Much better.”

…

A bit more than a week later, after my shift at The Grand Luxe, I’m wired with nerves as I wait for Athena to get out of school. I wring my hands while standing amidst the other mothers and nannies, not trying to make eye contact with anyone but not avoiding it, either. Though it’s been nearly two weeks, this anxious feeling awaiting her pickup still hasn’t gone away. I wonder if it ever will.

“You look new,” a voice says.

I turn my head to see a brown-haired woman wearing a blazer with a briefcase slung over one shoulder. Her makeup is done precisely and her hair is impeccably straight - she looks like she came straight from downtown. “Oh,” I say breathlessly. “Yeah.”

“Who’s your charge?”

“Excuse me?” I say timidly.

“The kid you’re here for,” she says, glancing towards the door. “Who is it?”

“Oh,” I say. “Um… Athena Avery.”

The woman’s eyes widen at the mention of her name. “You’re doing God’s work,” she says. “Bless your damn heart.” I balk a little and she takes a breath to keep talking. “I’m Lexie. I have twins - Eliana and Carter. Little blonde things, maybe you’ve seen them around. Either way, they’re in Athena’s class. I hear all sorts of things about her.”

“Oh,” I say.

“She holds a reign of terror over that room, apparently,” she says. “How long have you been with the Averys?”

“Almost two weeks now,” I tell her.

“I wish you luck,” she says. “The twins have been in Athena’s circle since they started school. Not a day goes by where she makes life easy. But my guess is you already know that.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to gossip about a child,” she says. “My twins just don’t have a great track record with her. Pinching, kicking, there was the biting phase last year… best not to bring it up. I hope you’ll be able to help her.”

“We’ll see,” I say. “If I’m not here next week, you can assume she killed me.”

Lexie laughs as the bell rings, then waves me goodbye to stand closer to the door. I feel a bit lighter having connected with someone at the school, where, until now, everyone has seemed too busy or too stuck up to give me the time of day. It made me feel even more alone than being shut out by Athena, and that’s saying something.

I watch for her signature, dynamic hair among the heads of the other children and paste on a smile when it comes into view. Today, a portion of it is in a bun atop her head with the rest fanned out around her face, thick and beautiful. She really is a gorgeous child, even while wearing the permanent scowl. I’ve never seen clearer skin, more expressive eyes, or cuter bow-shaped lips. And the uniform is adorable, though today the knees of her white socks are stained with dirt.

“Hi, Athena,” I say, greeting her with a smile. She gives me a tiny wave in return, eyes dead and unexpressive. Her mouth doesn’t move out of anything but a straight line, and she simply stands in place. “How was your day?” She shrugs. “How did you get those stains on your knees?”

“Some kid pushed me, so I pushed back. He pushed me again, then I fell.”

“Oh,” I say, frowning. “Did you tell a teacher?” She shrugs. “If it happens again, I’d tell a teacher. They can do something if someone is bullying you. Is someone bullying you?” She shakes her head no. “Well, that’s good,” I say. “Should we head home?"

She doesn’t give a verbal answer, but instead leads the way off the asphalt and through the gates to the sidewalk. I catch up and walk at her side, noticing that today she’s not complaining, not talking at all. I try and stay content with the silence until I can’t take it anymore - it’s becoming unsettling.

“Do you wanna talk about your day?” I ask, and she shakes her head. “Do you wanna talk about anything?” She walks a bit faster and I try to keep up - luckily, my legs are decently longer than hers. “What’s up with you today, Athena?”

She doesn’t look at me when she speaks. Instead, she continues on a straight path and says the words through a clenched jaw. “My grandma says that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

I blink in surprise and raise my eyebrows a bit, though she’s not looking at me. “Oh,” I say. “Well. Okay. Let’s go home then.”

When we get there, I make sure all of my belongings - no matter how innocuous - are in a place she can’t reach. I turn on the lights to make the place feel more like home and Athena kicks off her shoes and opens the snack cupboard, grabbing what she wants without any care given to whether or not she can have it.

“Didn’t your dad say something about eating healthier?” I ask. She just shrugs. I look at what’s in her hand and see it’s a granola bar, then decide to give in. She could do much worse. “Okay,” I say. “How about after we finish eating, you can do your reading? Or maybe we could take a look at that extracurricular list again.”

She chews as she says, “I’m not doing any of those dumb extra-whatevers.”

“They’re not dumb,” I say, finding the list. “They could be fun. Look. There’s gymnastics, karate, swimming, ballet, soccer, tennis-”

“Stupid, stupid, stupid, and stupid,” she says, prattling off in the same tone I just used.

I purse my lips, at a loss of how to continue. “Well, then you’ll have to take that up with your dad,” I say. “He made this list because he thought you would like these things, I think.”

“He doesn’t know what I like,” she grumbles.

“No?” I ask, trying to prompt a worthwhile conversation. She shakes her head - there’s been a lot of that today. The least I can do is chip away at her concrete exterior to see if I can get somewhere. She’s 7; how difficult can it be to relate to her? “What _do_ you like, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you can figure it out, maybe we can tell him and get you signed up for something you actually enjoy,” I say.

She shrugs for what’s probably the thousandth time this afternoon. “Don’t know,” she says.

“Well, that’s okay,” I say, noticing that she’s finished with her granola bar. “Keep thinking about it. What do you say we start your reading?”

“I don’t want to,” she says, staring at the table and tracing the grain of it with one finger. “Can you read to me?”

“I…” I stammer. “I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

“I just don’t feel like reading today,” she says, barely moving her lips as her eyes stay where they are.

I feel my heart faltering as I look at her face; a face laced with sadness and anger too heavy for a child her age. I feel bad for her - though her actions get on my last nerve and she’s pushed me to my limits over the span of just two weeks, I have to remember she’s a little girl. A little girl with a lot of feelings, or so it seems. “You know what,” I say. “Sure. What should we read?”

We move into the living room after making a selection and I sit on the couch with Junie B. Jones as Athena makes her way in. She glances between both armchairs that face the TV and then to the couch, clearly unsure of where to sit. I decide to extend the invitation to make her feel comfortable, like she can be close to me if she wants. I want her to feel safe with me, and it’s clear she doesn’t. It’s clear she doesn’t think much of me at all.

“Do you wanna sit with me?” I ask, tipping my head towards the empty cushions to my left.

She shakes her head no and decides on the armchair I’m sure is Jackson’s - big with brown leather. It dwarfs her, and she draws her knees to her chest while waiting for me to begin. “Okay,” she says, nodding. “Start.”

“Chapter one. Meeting Mrs.,” I begin. “My name is Junie B. Jones. The B stands for Beatrice. Except I don’t like Beatrice. I just like B and that’s all.”

I sit with Athena in the living room for a long time and her attention doesn’t waver once. It’s strange, I think, that she’s content with sitting so still and paying attention to just my voice and the occasional picture. I do a pretty good job at making the characters dynamic, but even I’m tired of hearing myself talk by the time the front door opens and Jackson comes in. I realize that we lost track of time and I didn’t start dinner, so I go to put the book down only to get a protest from the little girl. “No, don’t stop!” she says desperately, leaning over in the armchair to clasp her hands around the arm. “Finish the chapter, please?”

“Hello, ladies,” Jackson says, coming into the kitchen area to set his things down in the breakfast nook. “What’s up?”

“I want April to finish,” Athena says, swiveling at the waist to look at him. “I want her to finish the book.”

“Baby, April doesn’t have to do that. She wants to get home. You can read more tomorrow. Anyway, shouldn’t you be the one reading?”

“It was just for today,” I murmur, but I’m not sure he hears me.

“I want _her_ to,” she says. “I don’t want to do it tomorrow. I want to read today.”

“Thena, I’m sorry,” he says.

“I really don’t mind,” I say. “We don’t have much left.”

He gives a quick shake of his head with the corners of his lips pulled down. “Don’t worry about it,” he says.

“Will you finish it then, Daddy?” Athena asks. “I want to know what happens.”

“You know how you can find that out?” he asks. She cocks her head, wordlessly prompting him. “ _You_ finish it,” he says. “Yourself. You’re the best reader in your class and you’re telling me you can’t read Junie B?”

“I can,” she says quietly, crossing her arms. “I just like it better when you do it.”

Jackson ignores the statement and looks to me. I keep my eyes on Athena, though, feeling a bit sorry that Jackson won’t give her the time of day. It’s definitely not my place to tell him how to parent, but I hope he does finish the book with her once I leave. It would make her happy. “How was your day?” he asks as I stand up from the couch.

“Good,” I say. “I’m sorry, I didn’t start dinner. We basically just read.”

He comes with me into the entryway, saying, “No worries. I’ve got it under control.”

“Alright.”

“I have something for you,” he says, reaching into a bag that I hadn’t noticed was sitting on the dining room table. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

I know what it is before he pulls anything out. “Oh, no…” I say. “I told you I didn’t…”

“I know what you told me,” he says. “But it was somewhat my fault, what happened to your notebook. It happened under my roof, at least. It’s only right that I replace what you lost.”

Then, he brings the book around to the front of his body and my lips part in shock. It’s a hardcover, bookbound notebook with an ornate design on the cover - a blue background with dainty, gilded roses. It’s easily the most beautiful notebook I’ve ever seen. “Oh, wow,” I say, but I don’t reach out to take it.

“It’s yours,” he says.

I look up and meet his eyes to find them sparkling. “You really didn’t have to do this,” I say.

“Please, I insist,” he says. “I want you to have it. You deserve it.”

My heart feels fluttery as I take the notebook and our hands brush. We linger for a moment, eyes locked on one another, then I hold the book close to my chest. It feels alive, possessive of a heartbeat, and I already can’t wait to use it. “Thank you,” I say earnestly. “Really, thank you. I love it.”

“I thought you would,” he says. “The design seemed to fit you.”

“Yeah,” I say, stroking the back where the intricate shapes are slightly risen from the cover. “Um… thank you.”

He licks his lips, glancing at mine for a split second. So split, I wonder if I imagined it. “You’re very welcome,” he says with a soft nod. There’s a pause before he says, “Oh. I’ve been meaning to ask you. I have a dinner tomorrow night with a few clients - would you mind staying a bit late and putting Athena to bed? I won’t be home past 10.”

“Oh,” I say. “Sure. I’m happy to.”

“Great,” he says. “We’ll do a bath tonight so you won’t have much to worry about. No more than usual, anyway.”

“Okay,” I agree. “Sounds good.”

With the notebook still held close to my heart, I bid him goodbye and walk down the front steps slowly. I haven’t replaced the notebook myself since it happened because there wasn’t time - I nearly forgot about his promise to do so. So, this was a pleasant surprise that I find myself happy to accept. Something about it is more special because it came from him, because he looked at it and thought of me, because he bought it and gifted it to me. This came from him, specifically for my use. As I trace the sharp edges and smile to myself, I know it’s something I’m going to treasure.

…

“Hi, sugar. Thought I’d call and check in.”

I’m on the phone with my dad as I walk towards Chicago City Day School the next day, backpack over my shoulders with the new notebook inside. I wasn’t going to bring it, but considering I’m staying late at the Averys’ tonight, I figured I’d need something to do. I don’t plan on letting Athena know that I have it, though. I don’t want to risk anything happening to it.

“Hi, daddy,” I say with a smile. It’s good to hear his voice. We don’t talk often, but when we do, it wraps a security blanket around me for the rest of the day.

“How’ve you been?” he asks.

“Okay,” I say, wishing that I could vent about the troubles with Athena. I can’t, though. He wouldn’t understand. “Just living life in the city.”

“How’s the job search going?” he says.

I’ve been out of nursing school for a while now. My excuses don’t work anymore - too much time has passed for those. I knew he would ask, it was inevitable, so I had a tiny fib ready. “It’s good,” I say. “I actually found something.”

“Oh, really!” he says. “What?”

“I’m working with kids,” I say, which isn’t technically a lie. Not a huge one, at least. “At a small hospital around here. You probably wouldn’t know it. But… I like it. It’s really challenging; the kids have their own issues, but I really like helping them.”

“Of course you do,” he says, and I can hear the fact that he’s beaming. “I’m so proud of you, sug. Really, really proud of you.”

“Thanks, dad.”

“I’m being serious,” he says. “Your mom would’ve…” He pauses and I hear him smile. “Yeah. She would’ve loved that.”

My face burns and my heart clogs my throat when he says that. I hadn’t wanted him to go there, though I worried he would. My mom would probably love the fake job I just told him about, but she wouldn’t love the fact that I lied to him. I don’t know what she would think about my job with Athena or if she would approve or not. I’m not sure what she would think about anything, anything about my life. I never got the chance to know her well enough for that.

“Thanks,” I breathe.

“Are you at work now?” he asks.

I eye the school and stop in my tracks, bringing the phone closer to my face. “Uh, no,” I say. “Why?”

“I thought I heard kids,” he says.

I watch the kids playing on the playground, the little ones who get out early. “Oh,” I say. “Well, I mean, I’m just outside.”

“I can let you go, then,” he says. “But it was so good to hear your voice. Tell me you’re coming home to visit soon? I’d love to see you, sug. It’s been too long.”

“Sure,” I say. “Just let me look at my calendar.”

We hang up and my chest feels heavy once we do. I don’t like lying, I know it isn’t fair, but he would never approve of how I’m using - or not using - my nursing degree that he paid for. I don’t know how I would go about telling him it’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life, or at all. He wouldn’t understand that this nannying job is to keep me afloat until I can make it to LA to sing, or until someone spots me here. He wouldn’t get it. I’m aware of how teenage that mindset is, but it’s true. He and I don’t see things the same way, a lot of things. Just like he likes to bring up Mom in everyday conversation when that’s the last thing I want. He can talk about her so casually, and I’ve always needed to gather my strength and work up to it. I love him, but we don’t see eye-to-eye most of the time. To avoid disagreements, though, I don’t let him know.

“Hi, Athena," I say a few minutes later as she walks down the front steps, eyes on her feet. “How was your day?”

“Not good.”

“Oh no,” I say as we start to walk towards home. “Why not?”

She shrugs and I assume she won’t respond, but she eventually does. “I want to see my dad,” she mumbles.

“He’ll be home later tonight,” I say. “Until then, we get to hang out.”

“I want him,” she presses.

I chew the inside of my lip and wonder if I should ask what’s on the forefront of my mind. We spend about half a block in silence until I work up the gumption to speak again. “Do you get to spend a lot of time with him?” I ask hesitantly.

She keeps her eyes grounded on the sidewalk, stepping steadily as her flats click against the pavement. “He works too much,” she says.

I’ve noticed that, too. When Jackson comes home at night, his mindset isn’t necessarily at home. As I leave, his laptop usually comes out I assume to continue the work he’d just left. I think he expects Athena to entertain herself or work alongside him like some sort of tiny business partner. “Do you guys ever play together?” I ask.

“Play what?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Hide-and-seek. Go Fish. Twister. Do a puzzle, or something.”

She shakes her head. “No. Those are dumb baby games.”

“They’re not, if you make them fun,” I say. “And I know you could make them fun.”

“Probably not.”

I furrow my eyebrows a bit and continue. “How about watching TV?” I ask. “Do you ever watch TV together?”

“Daddy watches football,” she says.

“Maybe you two could pick a movie sometime,” I say. “One you both like. I think that would be cool.”

“I don’t know.”

She resigns from the conversation and I decide that it’s enough. I have to take it slow with her, baby steps will get me where I need to be. And even though our exchange might not seem like much to an outsider, I know it was. Even if by a millimeter, she let me in.

Our night together is quiet, mine and Athena’s. I finish the Junie B. Jones book and if I’m not mistaken, she wears a soft smile once it ends. She eats a good dinner - I find she’s not picky and is actually a fan of vegetables - and by the time 8:30 comes around, she’s yawning. “Want me to tuck you in?” I ask.

She looks up, eyes wide and glistening like she’s judging my next move before I can make it. “No,” she says. “I always do it myself.”

As she turns around, I stare at the back of her head and wonder to myself how a 7-year-old got to be so mature and independent - acting far beyond her years in a way that’s not precocious, but stark and stoic. I’m not sure if she knows how to have fun or if she’s even aware of the concept. A pang of sadness twists my heart as I wonder when the last time was that she laughed or roughhoused or stopped trying so hard to seem like an adult.

“Goodnight,” I call up the stairs, but get no response. It’s not that I expected one; I just want her to know that I care and that I’ll be down here while she goes to sleep. I want her to know that she’s taken care of and, because of that, is allowed to take her guard down.

There are footsteps upstairs for a little while as Athena brushes her teeth and gets ready for bed, but they don’t last for long. Soon, everything is quiet save for the heating in the house - scarily so. I wander around and look inside cupboards I’ve never investigated, pull open drawers to find nothing of interest, then see if there’s anything good in the fridge. I debate turning on the TV, but my guess is there’s not much to watch. There never is.

The minutes tick by slowly as I make laps around the house, getting used to it as if it were my own. I look at the clock after a while, expecting it to be somewhere close to 10, but it’s nowhere near. In fact, it’s barely 9.

I find myself in the front room alongside the grand piano, which isn’t surprising. It’s big, beautiful, and it draws me in - as it should. I sit on the cool bench and swipe both hands across the closed lid, convincing myself that I feel a heartbeat underneath. This is an instrument dying to be played, I can tell that much. It’s been sitting dormant for far too long, waiting for someone to create music from it. Watching life pass without sound, without a pulse. I’m ready to give it the life it deserves.

I lift the lid, met with 88 sparkling, familiar keys. They’re untouched by dust, by fingerprints, by everyday existence. I can’t help but smile as I touch them, and when I press my thumb on middle C, the deep thrum of the note exhumes the piano right in front of me, because of me. “There you are,” I say, warming up with a few scales.

Afterwards, I begin to play the first song that comes to mind - Ballade by Debussy. The notes come fluidly and gently, as always, and I close my eyes as they do. It’s clear this piano was dying to be used because it’s responding beautifully, our relationship is already symbiotic. The sound is slightly out of tune due to lack of use, but it’s nothing I can’t look past.

Since my eyes are closed, I’m past the halfway point in the song before I sense the presence of another person. I hear soft footsteps in the back of my mind, and I’m jolted back to the real world when I hear a raspy, wisp of a voice say, “Mommy?”

Immediately, I stop playing and turn my head to find Athena standing at the bottom of the stairs holding a tattered stuffed bunny. Her eyes are half-lidded and bleary, pajamas rumpled, eyebrows furrowed. “Sweetie,” I say, caught by surprise. “It’s just me.” I walk over and kneel to her level, one hand on her shoulder, seeing that her mind is far from being wakeful. “Let’s go back to bed.”

She obediently heads up the stairs and into her room, lying with the bunny tucked under one arm. We hold eye contact for a moment, and as her eyes drift closed, she extends her arms in the universal request for a hug. With a bursting heart, I drop to my knees and hug her as she lies there, face in her floral-smelling hair, eyes closed. “I heard Mommy,” she murmurs, arms still around my neck.

“Maybe you did,” I whisper, if only to soothe her back to sleep and into a pleasant dream. “Go back to sleep, sweet girl.”

I go back downstairs and sit on the piano bench, not playing, until Jackson gets home. I’m deep in thought over what just happened, and I want to tell him about it but I’m not sure how. I don’t want to dredge up family drama for the sake of telling the story, but I feel like I need to. “Hi,” he says quietly, taking his shoes off at the door. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” I begin, but I can’t finish before Athena’s small voice cuts through mine as she stands at the top of the stairs.

“Daddy,” she says, just loud enough to be heard.

“Thena,” he says, surprised. “Honey, it’s so late. Go lay down, and I’ll come tuck you in.” Instantly, I feel guilty - like he must think I kept her up too late and put her down past bedtime.

“Daddy,” she says again, having come down the stairs now. “I heard Mommy.”

“You were dreaming, baby,” he says, one hand on her back. “Come on. Upstairs.”

I wait as he takes her back up, and when he comes down I’m standing in the entryway. “I’m sorry,” I say instantly. “I… it was me, playing the piano. And she must have thought…”

“Oh,” he says, face blanching.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “And please, tell her that I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to confuse her… or…”

“It’s fine,” he says, expression calming a bit. “I promise, it’s fine. Someone should be using that piano.” He smiles to himself. “She and I don’t talk about Myla much. All she’s seen of her mother are videos of her playing the piano.” He nods towards the grand. “That piano.”

A lump forms in my throat as I wring my hands. I had no idea - I would never have opened it had I known it was once hers. “I didn’t know,” I say.

“You couldn’t have,” he says. “It’s okay. I’m glad you used it. Like I said, someone should.”

“Okay,” I whisper, smiling softly.

He pauses for a second, clears his throat, and blinks hard. “Um,” he stammers. “I didn’t know you played.”

I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “My whole life, basically.”

Now, it’s his turn to softly smile. The expression makes it all the way to his eyes, which seem to melt with feeling. My knees go weak; I can barely take it. “Seems there’s a lot we don’t know about each other,” he says. “Would you like to stay for a drink? Just to talk. Just a drink.”

My heart hammers so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t burst from my chest and lie flopping on the floor. The air has come alive between us, pulsing with electricity, and I’m sure he can feel it, too. The spark is undeniable and I’m terrified. Beyond terrified.

“I’m sorry,” I say, acting on instinct though the last thing I want is to leave. “I should really be getting home.”

“Of course,” he says, ducking his head to hide the flush on his cheeks - I didn’t miss it, though. “Of course, I’m sorry. I’ll let you go.”

He gets the door and I step through it, turning around once I’m standing on the porch. “See you tomorrow,” I say, hands clasped together to keep them from doing something stupid like grabbing his face and kissing him.

“Yes,” he says. “I’ll see you then.”


	4. Chapter 4

**JACKSON**

The next morning happens quietly. When I push open Athena’s bedroom door to get her up, I find her already awake and sitting in the middle of the floor with a group of dolls in front of her. I see two Barbies, a Care Bear, a Hatchimal, her American Girl Doll - Addy, and the favorite stuffed bunny, of course. I think he has a name, but I constantly forget it. 

“Hey, Thena,” I say, and she raises her eyes to meet mine after moving them away from the toys. “What are you doing?” 

“Talking,” she says, pulling the bunny into her lap and petting his ears in the same manner she has since toddlerhood. They’re worn and faded, past the point of repair. 

“To whom?” I ask, and she widens her eyes and jerks her head towards the toys as if I should’ve known. “Oh,” I say. “Well, it’s time to get ready for school. Do you need help with your hair?” 

She tucks the bunny’s head beneath her chin and looks at me with a certain guard in her eyes. It’s a look her mother used to wear when there was something on her mind - sometimes, it blows me away how similar they are. I’ve never told Athena as much, but maybe someday I will. I’m not sure how much good it would do her now. “Don’t you wanna know what we were talking about?” she asks as I walk towards the closet to pull out a clean uniform.

“Sure, babe,” I say, rifling through the hanging clothes to find a blouse. Once I pull it out, I toss it on the bed and bend a bit to reach the pull-out drawers. “Do you have clean white tights?” I ask. “Or are you going with navy today?” 

“I don’t  _ know _ ,” she says, walking to me after stepping over her audience. “I was telling them about Mommy.” Something in my chest grows cold as my stomach lurches. I take a deep breath and clear my throat, finding the white tights I was looking for, then hand them over. She doesn’t take them, though. “Did you hear me?” she says. “They wanted to know about her.” 

“I’m sure they did,” I say dismissively. “But baby, I need to tell you something. I know it’s not what you want to hear-” 

“Then don’t say it,” she says simply, turning around to take off her nightgown and change into the clothes I laid out.

“Well, it’s not that simple,” I say. “You  _ should _ hear it.

“I don’t want to. You just said that I don’t want to.”

“Athena, it wasn’t your mom playing the piano last night,” I say. “What you heard… that wasn’t her. I don’t want you to be confused-” 

“I’m not confused one bit,” she says. “Mommy plays the piano. It could only be her that was playing, and I heard it. You didn’t hear it, so you don’t know.” 

“Sweetie, no,” I continue. “It wasn’t her. It was April. April plays the piano.” 

“Not like that,” she argues. “Not like Mommy.” 

“Yes,” I say, insistent and frustrated. “Yes, she does. That’s who you heard - I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Even April said maybe!” Athena shrieks, fists clenched after she yanks a shirt on over her head. “She walked up the stairs with me and I laid down and told her I heard Mommy. And she said maybe I did! So, there.” 

“She was saying that to be nice,” I say. “Because she’s very nice and very good at playing the piano.” 

“She’s not nice and she’s not good as Mommy,” she counters. “Stop lying, liar! You always lie. You’re wrong, so stop saying it. Stop talking, daddy!”

“Hey,” I say. “Don’t talk to me like that. Athena Violet, you know better. You know Mommy’s gone. You know she’s not coming back. It’s wrong to think otherwise because it hurts people. She’s dead, sweetie. You know that.” 

“Stop saying it!” she shrills, face flushing. “I wish it was you and not her. I wish it was you and not her!” 

I physically recoil from her words, feeling the sting instantly. As I look at her face, I see the pain and malice that I won’t allow myself to feel, that I won’t dig deep enough for - but she’s laid it all bare. As she pants and her chest heaves, animosity pumping through her veins, I’m not sure what to do. I’m at a loss, like I am so often with my daughter, and I realize I don’t know her as well as I’ve always assumed I did. “Finish getting ready,” I say calmly, breaking our silent stare-down. “Brush your teeth before you come downstairs. I’ll do your hair when you’re ready.” 

She doesn’t respond as I turn around and walk out of her room and down the hall. Once I’m about halfway down the stairs, she slams her door and the force of it reverberates throughout the second floor, sending shockwaves through both mine and the house’s system. I hear thumps and thuds inside as she presumably throws things out of rage, and before long the sound of crying joins in. I stop in my tracks, wondering if I should go up and try to make it better, apologize for the way I worded things, but I don’t move. Something keeps me from it - I don’t feel welcome. I know she doesn’t want me; she said so herself. 

So, I do what I know how to. I pack her bag, her lunch, and lay out the hair tools. When she finishes her tantrum and comes downstairs, I’ll be ready for her. 

…

My mind is nowhere near present for the entirety of the work day. I have a meeting in which two of my head groups are presenting a new branding technique for Dasani, who recently hired our agency for a new campaign. I’m mentally absent all the way through it and when asked my opinion come the end, I’m lost and have to hide my humiliation over the fact. Admittedly, my thoughts were everywhere but at work - mostly centered on my troubled daughter and the way she spoke to me this morning, the way we spoke to each other. 

Should I have apologized? I don’t know. I don’t think what I said was wrong, necessarily - she’s 7 years old and knows her mother is gone. She’s known that for her entire life, and the suggestion of anything different only drives a dagger into my chest. She has no way of knowing how I feel about Myla and the instance of her passing because I never bring it up, but I stay quiet for a reason. I don’t see the point of reliving a time in my life where everything was dismal, where I had a brand new baby and no idea how to care for her, where I’d spend nights crying, feeling more alone than ever. I fell into a depression that felt a lot like I assumed postpartum would, paired with the loss of someone so important. She was never supposed to leave. We were supposed to raise our family together - she dreamed about Athena, wished for her, fell in love with her while the baby’s heartbeat rested inside her. And all of it was taken away. Maybe what Athena said earlier was right - it’s not like I haven’t thought it myself time and time again. It should’ve been me. 

“Mr. Avery? Hello? Mr. Avery?” 

I shake my head and blink hard, leaned back in my desk chair. With my hands folded over my middle and my head resting back, my assistant has caught me in a position that probably looks like I was sitting here lounging. “Sorry, Heather,” I say, sitting up. “What’s going on?”

“They’re asking for your decision,” she says. “They want you to sign off on it. Actually, they wanted you to an hour ago, but when I knocked, you didn’t answer.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say. “I was on the phone.” It’s a lie, a thin one, and she sees through it. I don’t know why I bothered. 

“About the decision,” she says. “Marcy’s group or Nathaniel’s? I just need to let the rep know.” 

I lean forward onto my elbows, rubbing my temples to try and concentrate on anything I might remember from the meeting earlier. In all honesty, I have no damn clue. Not a clue in hell. “I…” I stammer, unsure of where the sentence is going once I start it. 

“If I were you, I’d lean towards Marcy,” she says, closing the door and lowering her voice. I look up and can tell by the expression in her eyes that she knows something is wrong. “I would never try and speak for you, Mr. Avery, but-” 

“Please, god, speak for me,” I say, laughing as a way to release some tension.

She shuts the door fully. “Are you okay?” she asks. 

Heather has been my assistant for two years - ever since I was promoted to the vice president position at MERGE. “Uh… I will be,” I say, pasting a smile on my lips. 

“You sure about that?” she asks. “You’re usually all in with product meetings. Today, I looked over and if I didn’t know better, I’d have assumed you were high. Your eyes were glazed over, you were in another world. Definitely not here.”

“Sorry about that,” I say. “I can assure you, it won’t be a habit. You know that.” 

“I know. That’s why I’m concerned.”

“It’s my daughter,” I say, chewing a small portion of my lower lip as I shake my head. “A lot going on at home right now. I try not to bring it here, but that doesn’t always work in my favor. As you can see.” 

“I can definitely see,” she says, leaning in. “You know, no one’s gonna say anything if you take a day off.” 

I refute her right away. “Oh, no,” I say. “Getting behind would only make things worse. If I’m healthy and there’s no blizzard keeping me from this place, I’m gonna be here.” 

“I’m not doubting you,” she says. “But it’s alright to take a break. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” I say. “You think I allocated all those vacation days for everyone for nothing?”

“Yet you haven’t touched a single one of yours,” she retorts. “Why is that?” 

“Because I’m vice president of this company,” I say, matching her tone and spirit. “When have you known a body to function without its heart?”

“When did you start considering yourself the heart?” she asks, eyebrows raised as she knocks me down a peg. “Come on, Jackson.” 

“Okay, that was a lot,” I admit. “But this is my business. I’m depended on to make sure it runs.” 

“I can assure you that we will last one day without you,” she says, then gasps. “Or maybe… even a full week.” 

“I don’t know,” I say, waving her off. “We’ll see. We’ll see.” 

She stands up, catching the cue that I’m ready for her to leave. “I’m going to tell the rep that you chose Marcy,” she says. “That alright?” 

“Fine by me,” I say. “As long as you think it’s the right choice. I trust you.” 

She lingers in the doorway with one hand on the wall, one foot outside while still looking at me. She inhales deeply and says, “If you trust me so much, you should listen to me once in a while. Take a damn day off, Avery.” 

“Get back to work, Heather,” I say, having returned to my paperwork.

“You’re being stubborn!”

“I’m making a living. Get back to work.” 

…

Light shines through the bay window asI walk up the front steps that night, feeling haggard from a day at work where I didn’t do much at all. I have a briefcase full of proposals I need to look over and potentially sign - that’s what I should’ve been doing today - I’ll have to get to them once April leaves. 

I hear soft voices coming from the front room as I’m taking my shoes off. The rise and fall of April’s sweet soprano along with Athena’s murmur, trading off like they’re reciting something they both know well. I stay in the foyer for a moment, just listening, until I can’t justify hiding any longer. “Hi, ladies,” I say, coming around the corner to see them. They’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, knees bent, one book held between them. Until I came through and interrupted, I think they were taking turns reading sections. From what I can tell, it’s another one of Junie B. Jones’. “How was your afternoon?”

April smiles a bit but Athena lifts the book to cover her face. April glances at her then back to me, visibly wondering how to bridge this gap. “Good,” she finally answers, seeing that Athena clearly doesn’t plan on giving me anything. 

“Thena?” I prompt. “How about yours?” 

Now, instead of just using the book to hide, she turns and presses her face into April’s shoulder. This is the closest I’ve ever seen her get - there seems to be a certain warmth between the two of them that hasn’t been there before. Well, maybe not so much as a ‘warmth,’ per se, but a lack of frigidity. 

“Athena,” April says, trying to encourage her to speak. “Say hi to  your dad. He’s talking to you.” 

“No.” 

April shoots me an apologetic look, though she has no reason to do so. It’s not her fault Athena is acting this way, I’m fully aware that it’s mine because of what went down this morning. I know I should apologize being that she’s a child and I treated her unfairly. I came to such conclusion much earlier in the day, but I have no idea how to go about it. I’m afraid that in bringing it back up, it’ll start the fight over again - that’s something I definitely don’t want. “Thena,” I say. “Can I just get a ‘hi, daddy’?”

She lifts her face to April, asking, “Can we finish reading now?”

April looks at me again and I feel lost. When given the choice, Athena never picks someone over me. This is the first time I’ve ever experienced it - she won’t even look at me, no less give me the time of day. I feel shoved to the side, and for what? Because of a disagreement? 

“Can you say hi to your daddy?” April asks.

“Hi,” Athena mumbles without looking over. “Now, can we read?” 

I let out a sigh that was meant to be silent but instead comes out as a powerful gust of air. April meets my eyes, lips parted and at a loss. “Go ahead, finish,” I say tersely. I’m not upset with her, not at all. If anyone, I’m upset with myself. I know that I let things get to this point, where I allow my 7-year-old to ignore me and make me feel lesser, but I don’t know how to bring them back. Sometimes, like now, the situation feels so far gone that there might not be any hope of bringing it back. I can’t say ‘bringing it back to what it was,’ because I’m not sure there was ever a time where Athena and I were genuinely happy. Between us, someone is always waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I’ll get dinner started.” 

I retreat into the kitchen and rest against the island for a long moment, just breathing and existing. The rise and fall of April and Athena’s voices returns after a few seconds as they pick up where they left off. I open the fridge to try and decide what to make and nothing sounds good - there’s barely anything in here, anyway. I don’t have the energy or desire to cook, so I end up calling a number for pizza stuck to the side of the fridge. It’ll make Athena happy at least, and maybe put me a little closer to her good side. 

I lean against the island, the small of my back pressing into it, as I listen to my daughter and her nanny continue to converse. Their voices have changed from the rhythm of the book to that of an actual conversation, and it’s coming through clear as day. I have no choice but to listen in.

“Why didn’t you wanna say hi to your daddy?” April asks. 

Silence follows. Such a thick patch that I’m sure Athena must be ignoring her in the way she was ignoring me. It’s not a sense of satisfaction that I get because of it, that would be wrong, but for a moment I can at least be thankful I’m not alone. That moment ends quickly, though, because she does end up speaking. “I’m mad at him,” she eventually says. 

“Why’s that?’ 

She doesn’t answer right away. I can’t see her face, but it would seem she’s taking her time in thinking about her answer. It’s a typical behavior. No matter how young, she’s always been a very cerebral child. “He yelled at me this morning.” 

“Oh, no,” April says. “What about?” 

I hear the sound of a book closing, which is probably April’s doing. I furrow my eyebrows and cross my arms, interested to see how the story will progress. But instead of answering the question outright, Athena diverts the topic elsewhere. “Daddy said that it was you playing the piano last night,” she says quietly, almost like she’s ashamed to put it out in the open. “Was it?” 

I wait with bated breath, wondering how April will answer this million-dollar question. It was the impetus as to why Athena got angry with me in the first place - the impetus as to why I lost my temper. “It was,” April says, almost as if she’s guilty owning up to it. “And I’m really sorry. I didn’t know it would wake you - I didn’t know you could hear all the way from upstairs. I never meant to confuse you or hurt your feelings, Athena.”

I expect Athena to launch into a full-blown retelling of our verbal altercation that morning; though I was proven right, I still imagine that she’ll paint me in a negative light and say I yelled at her for no good reason when that isn’t entirely true. I did yell at her, but at the time, the reason felt valid. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, though, I’m not so sure. 

“My mommy played the piano,” Athena says. The gravity of her words and the tone in which she says them makes my heart lurch. I’m not used to hearing her talk about Myla - I don’t think she ever has, at least not to someone who isn’t me. And I’m not exactly great at entertaining the idea. “I saw videos once. My auntie showed me.”

That was a night to remember. I had asked Maggie to babysit Athena when she was three years old, which was normal back then. We didn’t have a steady nanny or babysitter to call - I relied on family. I don’t so much anymore because they have their own lives and can’t cater to mine, though we still see each other regularly. But that night, Maggie had been here and I got home earlier than anticipated to find the two of them still awake, sitting on the couch and watching home videos. At first, I thought it was a benign and even heartfelt gesture - that is, until I realized the content of what they were watching. It was Myla, at the grand piano in the front room, playing her favorite songs. She used to love Chopin and Beethoven - they were her favorites. She would sit there and play for hours, even more so once she got pregnant. She always said she wanted Athena to come into the world already knowing music, already appreciating it. The best I’ve been able to do for her is play the ‘Classical Favorites’ CD whenever Athena wants it. Other than that, the first instance she’s come across music since birth has been thanks to April. 

That night, Maggie got read the riot act and I didn’t talk to her for weeks. Athena, on the other hand, spoke about her mother and the ‘pretty music’ constantly - incessantly asking to see the videos again. I never showed them to her a second time, though. I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t look at those tapes and watch what I lost, watch what my daughter will never see firsthand. I’ve deprived Athena of her mother because I’m deprived of her. It comes down to something as simple as that. 

It doesn’t surprise me that, even with just one viewing, she still remembers the content of the tapes. I’m sure she can still picture her mother’s smile as clearly as I can - the way she moved with the music and let it become her. It was like she had another soul, a secret one, when she sat behind those keys. She and the piano were partners, and it was a relationship in which she wanted Athena included so badly. 

“She did?” April asks, prompting Athena to continue. 

“Yeah. I saw her playing. She was playing so pretty. She was really good. That’s why I thought it was her… it was pretty.”

“Well, thank you,” April says. “You know how long I’ve been playing for?” There’s a pause where I assume Athena shakes her head. “Since I was 5 years old. Even younger than you.” 

“Younger than me?” 

“Yep.”

There’s another silence - one where I imagine their conversation must be over. Lately, Athena hasn’t been up for much talking, so I can’t picture her wanting to say more. I can’t believe she’s let go as much as she already did; this is rare. Rare and coveted, in my case. I would love to talk to her like this, but I have no idea how. Sometimes, I look at her and see a carbon copy of her mother - they get angry the same way and experience joy as twins. But other times, I look at her and see a complete stranger. Someone made from my blood who I don’t have a chance in recognizing.

“I want you to play again,” Athena says, surprising me. Her voice is so quiet, I strain to hear it. “The pretty music. The pretty song you did.” 

Pretty music. The phrase hasn’t been lost, but saved and lent to someone else. Someone who, in her eyes, clearly deserves it. “You want me to play?” April asks, sounding as shocked as I feel. That was the last thing I expected Athena to request. If anything, I pictured her getting angry and ordering April never to touch that piano again. I was ready to step in if that happened, but now I can let a bit of my guard down since Athena apparently has.

“That same song,” Athena says. “Play it.” There’s a pocket of silence. “Please, play it.” 

I hear a shift of movement as they get up from the couch and I stand there speechless, dumbfounded that this is actually happening. I’m not sure how I feel about Athena craving the sound of the piano played by a woman who isn’t her mother. Though I know there’s nothing logically wrong, something about the concept feels out of place. I don’t make a move to prevent it from happening, though, I won’t go that far. What I’ll do is stand here and wait for it to transpire, since I have no clear idea how it will turn out.

“It’s called Ballade,” I hear April say, and the position of her voice has changed a bit now that she’s closer - at the piano. I hear the lid come open and the air changes, almost like the piano has inhaled some. “It’s by a composer named Claude Debussy. He’s from France, and he’s probably my most favorite.”

“Okay,” Athena says. “Can I hear it now?”

“Sure,” April says, then starts to play as if it’s nothing. It comes so naturally, it’s otherworldly to hear. I take a deep breath and hold it, chest tightening, eyes burning. The idea of the piano being played again after all these years was a nice image, but the actual event is almost too much for me to handle. It doesn’t feel like Myla out there playing while I cook dinner, it feels like a new being entirely - because it is. April has encouraged a different strain of life into this house through the notes she’s playing; there’s no denying it while hearing them. 

The way she plays is expressive and human - not like someone plunking out sound on a keyboard but someone who experiences every emotion through the music itself. I can see a story in my head through the way she plays, because of what she paints, so real that it practically stands before me. 

Though the song is long, it ends much too soon and I’m jolted back from the other world I’d been transported into. April and Athena’s conversation is quiet now and drawn-out; they speak in such low tones that I can’t hear a word of their exchange. Instead, I hear the song being played again in slightly a different way, but it’s still discernible as the same song. Something about it has changed, though, that I can’t put my finger on.

“Oh, my god,” I hear April say, interrupting the occurring notes. “Oh, my god…” I frown and stand up straighter, wondering if something is wrong. “Oh, my god, Athena. Oh, my god!” The creases on my forehead deepen as the song stops and April’s voice continues. “Have you… have you played that song before?” 

“I don’t know that song,” Athena says, sounding confused. “I don’t know it.” 

“Do you take lessons?” April asks, and I’m still puzzled. Of course she doesn’t - I’ve debated it, but never had the time or inclination. “How did you do that, then? How did you do that?” 

“I don’t know,” Athena’s small voice says, and I can tell she’s being genuine. There’s a specific depth to her tone that isn’t often present. “I just... did it.”

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps thunders through the hall and April stands in the kitchen area, wide-eyed and frazzled. Her mouth is gaping and her face is flushed - I still have no idea what’s going on. “What’s wrong?” I ask. 

“Nothing… nothing’s wrong,” she says, then looks down the hallway she just came from. “Nothing at all. Something is incredible, though.” She locks eyes with me and smiles breathily, wearing an expression that lights up her whole face. “Your daughter is a prodigy.” 

“My daughter is a what?” I echo, in disbelief. I shake my head, saying, “April, come on.” 

“I’m not kidding,” she says. “Didn’t you hear that, just now?” 

“I heard you playing, yes. It was beautiful.”

“Not me,” she says, deflecting with a wave of her hand and a frown. “Her. The second time through the song. That was  _ her _ .”

“That can’t be right,” I say, taking a few steps closer. “Athena,” I call.

“I promise you,” April says, taking my wrist to tug me towards the piano. I stare at the contact - the place where her hand has wrapped around my arm is tingling and sending shockwaves up to my shoulder, her touch is that powerful. “It was her. I promise you! She played Debussy with no experience.” She stops in her tracks and turns to face me. “Do you know how hard that song is? Do you know how many years it took me to sound like she just made it sound?” She throws her arms up. “You don’t just sit down one day and  _ play _ Ballade!” 

I’m still at a loss. Now, we’re standing near the piano and it seems almost boastful, oozing with pride at the talent it just unearthed. Athena sits at the bench, seemingly waiting for instruction. She’s watching April’s every move. She’s even smiling, just a bit, as she looks up at her. “Okay,” I say, trying to make sense of this as I look at my daughter. “Honey, play it again,” I say. “Play it again so I can hear.” 

In a split second, the tiny smile on her face drops to the stony scowl I’m used to. She stares at the keys, fingers draped over them, and simply says, “No.”

“No?” April says, speaking first. 

“Thena, I just want to see what you can do,” I say. “If it makes you feel better, I won’t look. I’ll turn around.” 

“I don’t want to,” she grumbles. 

April walks closer to the bench, closer to Athena, while keeping her eyes on my face. “It was amazing,” she insists, as if she’s trying to convince me. Now, I wish I could go back in time and listen better, listen to the second round of the song while knowing it was my daughter playing. I wasn’t listening closely enough. I didn’t hear everything I should have. Athena looks up at her nanny and lets April cup her face, grinning as April says, “ _ You _ are amazing.” 

I can’t remember the last time Athena let someone - anyone - touch her like that in such a soft, affectionate way. She soaks it up with April, soaks up that praise, and I feel a lump in my throat because of it. How long has she been waiting for validation like that? How long have I been depriving her of it? 

Interrupting the moment, the doorbell rings and makes us all jump. “Oh,” I say, heading towards the door. “That would be the pizza I ordered.” 

“Pizza?” Athena says. “Pizza!” She hurries over to help me greet the delivery person, then tugs on my sleeve. “I want April to stay,” she says quietly, like she’s nervous that April will hear. 

“Oh, honey, she doesn’t wanna do that,” I say, paying the young girl at the door. 

“But I want her to,” Athena presses, then turns around and speaks with a louder voice. “Can you stay and eat with us?” she asks.

Judging by her expression, April is just as shocked as I am by the proposal. “Sure,” she says. “As long as it’s okay with…”

“It’s fine by me,” I say, bringing the pizza box inside. “I just don’t want you to feel obligated.” 

“Oh no, I don’t,” she says. “I’ll go get plates.” 

It’s a strange and refreshing feeling, sitting at the dinner table with a third person. We don’t do much talking at first - I’m not sure of what to say. Bringing up the topic of the piano doesn’t seem allowed, as it’s so fresh and Athena clearly didn’t want to share it with me. I hope she’ll change her mind on that, but for now I won’t force it. “Tell Daddy about that one guy,” Athena prompts after her first piece of pizza, tapping April on the forearm. “The guy who’s your favorite.” 

“Oh, Debussy,” April says, smiling a bit bashfully. “Well, he probably already knows about him.”

“I don’t, actually,” I say, setting down a piece of crust. “I’d love to hear about him.” 

“Oh,” she says, clearly surprised. “Well… um, he was French.” 

“His name is Claude,” Athena cuts in, smiling at April and waiting for approval.

“Yep, his name was Claude,” April continues. “He actually began piano lessons at age 7…” She looks to Athena and raises her eyebrows.

My daughter jolts upwards in her chair, more animated than I’ve seen her in a long time. “I’m 7!” she exclaims. 

“I know,” April says warmly. 

“What else did he do?”

Before April can answer the question, my phone rings from inside my pocket and attracts everyone’s attention. I pull it out to see that it’s Heather, and due to the proposals I heard today, I can’t let it go to voicemail. “Sorry,” I say, standing. “Gotta take this. You guys keep eating.” 

I talk to Heather for a while about what the representative thought of the team’s pitch - I don’t realize how long the conversation has been going until I see April cleaning up the pizza and boxing up the leftovers. 

“You don’t have to do that,” I mouth, one hand to the bottom of the phone while Heather continues to talk. 

“It’s fine,” April says, shrugging me off as she continues to tidy up.

When I finally hang up, I breeze back into the dining room. “Now, what we were we saying about old Claude?” I ask, but the table is empty. I’m speaking to no one. The question was meant to be directed at Athena because I imagined she’d still be sitting at the table, but she’s not. “Thena?” I call out. 

April brushes past me as she heads towards the front door. “Piano,” she says.

When I look around the table and towards the instrument, I see Athena has made a home under it. With her legs tucked to her chest and her chin resting on her knees, her face is turned away from me. All I can see is the back of her curly-haired head and her thin arms wrapped around her shins. “Oh,” I say, then look up to see April gathering her things and putting her coat on. “Are you heading out? Thanks for staying and eating with us.” 

“Eating with Athena, you mean,” she murmurs, turned away as she adjusts her bag. 

I sigh a little, feeling guilty. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. We’re closing on a big project right now and it’s hard to get away from it.” 

She raises her head and meets my eyes dead-on, ferocity laden in hers. “She was trying to talk to you,” she says, eyebrows lowered and jaw tight. “She wanted to tell you about something that’s important to her. By taking that phone call, you basically told her that you don’t care.” 

“Hey,” I say, taken aback. “Of course I care.”

“Then show her,” April says, fire behind her words. “Because she doesn’t see it. And frankly, neither do I.” 

I stand there for a moment with my lips parted, trying to think of something to say in my own defense. I can’t come up with anything, though, probably because I know she’s right. In my heart of hearts, I know I don’t have a leg to stand on. “I’m trying,” I say weakly. 

She hitches her bag higher and puts her hand on the doorknob, never breaking from my eyes. “Are you?” she says, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I gotta go.” She lifts her chin a bit to see around me. “Bye, Athena. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Bye,” my daughter mumbles quietly, sadly. 

April shuts the door and I’m left standing in the aftershocks of her anger. The dose of reality doesn’t taste good, especially not having come from her. I don’t want her to think poorly of me, but I respect the fact that she said what she did. It’s not that I haven’t been told as much before, but it hit harder coming from her mouth. There’s not a single other nanny in the world who would be so upfront with me. Most or nearly all are intimidated by my presence alone, but she’s not. It’s not what I’m used to, but it’s a breath of fresh air. It’s something that makes me want to keep her around. It’s obvious she brings something to our house, to our family, that we’ve possibly never had. 

I think about April and what she said for the rest of the night. While I’m awake, her words ring through my mind. And while I’m asleep, I dream about a redhead. 

…

The following weekend, my mother, father, sister and all her kids are over at our house for dinner. We’ve just finished and are sitting around the table talking - everyone except Maggie’s kids, that is, who have gone to play in the basement. Athena sits in her usual spot, though, swinging her legs as she passes the time. It seems like she doesn’t want to be here, but can’t necessarily think of anyplace better.

“We discovered something with Athena the other day,” I say, broaching the topic without asking first. My daughter’s head jerks up, meeting my eyes with indignance. She tightens her lips and glowers, but I don’t see a reason not to share the news with our family. Even if I haven’t witnessed it firsthand, I don’t have a reason not to believe April. “Turns out, she’s pretty gifted at the piano.” 

“Oh, really,” my mother says, folding her hands as she faces her granddaughter. “Well, isn’t that lovely! I was wondering when you would find your passion, little one. What can you play?” Athena doesn’t answer, which prompts my mother to keep talking. “Twinkle, Twinkle? Hot Cross Buns?” 

Athena looks back to her lap and frowns deeper, intertwining her fingers and pressing them together. “Stupid baby songs,” she mumbles. 

“What do you like to play, then?” my father asks. “You know, I know a lot about the piano. I’m the boss of all the people who play in the big restaurant you love!” 

Athena just shrugs, refusing to disclose the song. If she won’t, I will. “Apparently, she played Ballade by Debussy the other day. Just after hearing it once,” I say. 

“No way,” Maggie says, eyes big and round. “That’s amazing! Seriously, that’s unheard of! I have to see this.” 

“It would really make my day,” my mother says. 

“What do you say, Thena?” I prompt, nudging her arm softly. “Will you play it for them?” 

She chews the inside of her cheek for a long time, blinking steadily at her moving knees. Then, finally, she gives a little shake of her head and crosses her arms over her chest. “No,” she says. “I only play it for April.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has nods towards two movies - A Little Princess (1995) and Corrinna, Corrinna (1994). If you've never seen them, I HIGHLY recommend checking them out.

**APRIL**

It’s not often that I sit before a piano in silence, but today I am. 

I’ve already played my fair share this morning at The Grand Luxe during the early shift; that’s not the piano I’m talking about. The one I play at work is grandiose and onyx. The one I’m in front of now is stately, white, and comes with a small child. 

Athena told me about her aunt on the way home, Jackson’s sister. I learned that her name is Maggie, she has three kids - Athena’s cousins - and although they’re close in age, they don’t often play together. It seems as though the opportunity presents itself frequently enough, but Athena doesn’t take advantage of it. I asked her if she ever plays at recess, and she asked me what I meant by ‘play.’ The need for clarification left me stunned. What child doesn’t know what the act of playing constitutes?

I learned that her aunt Maggie and Jackson don’t always get along and they disagree a lot. She’s heard them fighting about her and even talking about me. When I asked for details, she didn’t know them so I didn’t press. We just kept walking and I accepted whatever she felt like offering. 

Now, we’re home. After taking off her shoes and backpack and leaving them in a pile in the foyer, she gravitated towards the piano and I felt there was no other choice but to join her. We’ve been sitting here, not saying anything, for almost thirty minutes now. She’s not looking at me nor waiting for me to take action, but instead just being present alongside the hulking instrument. Maybe it makes her feel at ease. Maybe it makes her feel closer to her mother. I don’t know what it makes her feel, in all honesty, and maybe she doesn’t know herself. Maybe, it just feels good to sit here. And that’s a fine enough reason for me. 

When she lifts one hand and rests it on the keys, little fingers fanning as far as they can possibly go, I smile to myself. They only reach between C and G - just barely. She presses her thumb down, and the middlemost note of the piano rings out, reverberating through the strings and into our ears. She smiles at the sound she made and moves up a step to D with her pointer finger, ascending slowly. She lets the note fade then moves pointedly to E, then F, then finally, G with her pinky. While at first she went slowly, the second time she moves through much faster. And during the third time, I chime in with, “C, D, E, F, G…” at the pitch of the corresponding notes.

“What’s that?” she asks, pinky still pressing on G as it wavers. 

“The names of the notes,” I say. “This one right here is middle C. Then it goes up the alphabet. All the way to G.” 

She tries it again, moving all five fingers until the pinky has taken its turn. Then, she loops her thumb under her hand and presses on A, asking, “H?” 

I chuckle. “No,” I say. “A. I know, it’s confusing.”

She giggles a little and says, “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

That might be the first time I’ve ever heard her laugh. I savor the sound and try to suppress my smile - I don’t want to make a big deal out of it in fear she’ll retreat back into her shell. I run my fingers along the keys and play a small tune, just something to fill the air, then look at her. “Have you played again since the other night?” I ask. “Did you show your dad?” 

She places both hands on the keys now, moving her fingers in a way that might be mimicking the songs in her head. “No,” she says. “And my grandma, grandpa and Aunt Maggie wanted to hear, too. But I didn’t do it for them, either.” 

“Why not?” I ask carefully.

“Because they don’t care,” she explains. 

“They asked, that’s caring,” I point out. “And you play for me.” 

She turns and meets my eyes with poignance. “Because you care,” she states. “I only want to play when you’re here.”

“I promise you, Athena,” I say. “Your dad cares.” 

She shrugs and says, “No, he doesn’t. He cares about his work.” 

“He cares about you, too,” I say. “He just doesn’t know how to show it.” 

“That’s dumb.” 

I snort and say, “It is. Would it be alright with you if I tried to help him show it?” 

She shakes her head and watches her fluttering fingers. “He won’t listen,” she says. “He never does. Even when he asks questions, he doesn’t listen when you answer. Then he gets mad. It makes no sense.”

“Boys don’t make sense,” I say. “And honestly, adults in general don’t make sense, either. Some of them don’t get kids. But I think your dad really wants to get you.” 

“I just want to play for  _ you _ ,” she says insistently. 

I sigh a little and remind myself that Rome wasn’t built in a day. I’m determined to make headway with Athena and Jackson, though. How much she needs him has become so blatantly clear that I can barely think about anything else. Well, other than her ability to play the piano like a child genius. That’s definitely on the forefront of my mind, too. “Okay,” I concede. “We don’t have to make any decisions right now. We can see how you feel in a little while.” 

Her body seems to release a bit of its tension as she darts her eyes to mine. “Will you play another song by your favorite guy?” she asks. “Debussy?”

“Of course,” I say, sitting up straight. “Have you ever heard of one called ‘Clair de Lune’?”

She shakes her head. “All I know is a girl in my class named Claire. She touched my hair last year and I got sent to the principal’s office for hitting.” 

I don’t suppress my smile this time, I can’t help it. Hers is an attitude that, while difficult to manage, I can’t help but admire. She has more fire than she knows what to do with, but as she gets older I can only imagine how she’ll blossom. She’s already a force to be reckoned with at age 7. “Don’t think of that Claire when you hear this,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “Close your eyes and just listen. Think about whatever comes to your head.” 

I play the song, notes flowing from my fingers easily because I’ve been playing it for years and years. Not only is it a popular request at The Grand Luxe, but it’s yet another personal favorite of mine. I love the way the notes run together and make me think of a moonlit night. I don’t know why that image always gets conjured up as I play, but it does. I can’t help but wonder what it might make Athena picture.

When I’m done, she’s looking at me. More like studying me, actually. “What is it?” I ask, feeling self-conscious as the absence of music makes the room so much quieter. 

She turns to look at the keys quickly, like she’s embarrassed to have been caught looking. “You were smiling,” she says. “While you played.” 

“Oh, yeah,” I say, laughing softly. “I don’t really have control over what goes on with my crazy face.”

“My mommy smiled when she played,” she says, the words cutting through my sentence like a breaker wave. They’ve been laid out and bare; now waiting for me to catch and cradle them. “In the video I saw.” 

I nod slowly, blinking while watching the micro-expressions on Athena’s face change. I’m not sure yet how to read her emotions, but I hope one day I’ll be good at it. “Music has the power to make you feel things deeply,” I say. “It has the power to do a lot - evoke a whole lot of emotions. For me, it’s happiness. Playing music makes me happy.” 

“I hope it can make me feel happy, too,” Athena murmurs quietly, and I close my eyes to let the weight of that sink in after she says it. 

“I think it will,” I say after a moment has passed. “Do you wanna try what I just played?”

“Yeah.” 

I don’t give any direction or tell her what to do, instead I take my hands off the keys and wait for her to work her magic. Because that’s what this feels like - real magic. When I was five and just beginning lessons, I could barely plunk out the five-note scale she just played. It took me years to solidify control of my left hand and to this day, it’s still not as strong as my right. When I was 7, where she is now, I played a rudimentary version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow for nearly a whole year before my family got sick of it and begged my piano teacher to teach me something new. That was the year Mom died, though, and I dove into music after that. I started the year off playing a tune from  _ Wizard of Oz _ and ended it playing Beethoven for children. I was nowhere near Athena’s level, but that’s where my talent began to grow - from the soil of my loss. Maybe hers will blossom in the same way. 

I can’t take my eyes off her hands while she plays. They move so fluidly, instantly, before I can ask if she wants to hear the song a second time. Of course, it’s not perfect. But it’s clearly Clair de Lune. Though she misses a few notes here and there, they’re meaningless compared to the whole of the song which comes out like she’s been practicing for years. She doesn’t watch her hands; she closes her eyes and they stay closed as she leans forward, immersed in the sound, and the passion is visible on her face. She feels what she’s playing, it’s coursing through her veins and coming from her fingertips like a new wave of emotion. She’s becoming the song, letting it become her, and nothing else matters while that happens.

After she plays the last note, she lets out a long breath and opens her eyes, staring at her hands for a long moment. The other night, I was too excited to let her finish Ballade. This is the first song she’s ever completed - played from beginning to end - and I wonder how it must feel. I wonder where her mind goes while she’s playing or if it goes anywhere at all. 

“Was I good?” she asks, and suddenly she becomes the child she’s always been. For a moment, as she played, I forgot her age because of the way she made the music sound - so mature, rounded out, and deep. But here she sits, 7 years old and waiting for my approval.

“You were more than good,” I say. “You were fantastic.” She smiles, beams, but can’t look at me for long. Instead, she taps on the keys while itching to try again, but I’m not quite done talking. “What does it feel like, when you play?” I ask. “How do you remember all the notes?” 

She frowns a little, thinking. “They just come,” she says. “I hear it and I know.” She looks up at me. “Is that what it’s like for you, too?” 

I smile. “No,” I say. “I have to read music first and then memorize it."

“Read music?” she asks. “What does the music say?” 

I giggle softly. “It doesn’t say much,” I say. “You read the notes, and every note has a name. They’re written on what’s called a staff and they tell you what to play and how to play it. That’s how I learn a song. I can’t just listen and know like you.” I look at her poignantly. “Not many people can do that. It’s special, what you can do. You’re very special.” 

“I don’t know how I do it, though,” she says. “I really don’t know how.” 

“I know,” I say. “And you know what? You don’t have to know. That’s the cool part.” 

She nods, pressing the keys slowly so no sound comes. “It made me feel happy,” she says. “Like you. But also it made me think about sad stuff. So, not just happy.”

“What sad stuff?” I prompt. “If you don’t mind me asking.” 

She continues to watch her hands, quiet for a while. I wonder if I went too far and pushed the envelope, though I hadn’t been trying to do so. “My mommy’s video,” she says. “I thought about her playing.” 

“And that made you sad?” She nods. “It doesn’t have to, though, you know,” I say.

She looks over, lifting her eyes from her hands. “How?” she asks, studying my face like it might hold the answer. “She’s dead and I won’t ever see her again.”

I hold her eyes and wonder how far I should go. Maybe this isn’t my place, but at the moment it feels like it is. Saying anything less or nothing at all would be a huge disservice to this little girl. “You know, I don’t have a mother, either,” I begin.

She blinks in surprise, like she never thought it was possible for someone to share her predicament. “You don’t?” she asks. “Where is she?” 

“In heaven,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t talk to her. I tell her everything, and I know she hears me.” 

“How?” 

“Because that’s what angels do,” I explain. 

“Your mom is an angel?” she asks. 

“Of course,” I answer, knowing what I need to tell her. “And so is yours. With beautiful, silky wings, and a crown of baby roses. They all live together in a castle up there. Do you know what it’s made out of?” She shakes her head. “Sunflowers. Hundreds of them. So bright, they shine like gold. And when the angels want to go someplace, they just whistle like this.” I pucker my lips and make a whistling sound, and Athena tries to copy. It comes out thinner and quieter, but still there. I nod, encouraging her. “And a cloud floats to the castle door and picks them up. And the angels fly through the sky, riding the cloud like a magic carpet, under the moon and through the stars…” I make my hand flat and weave it through the air, swooping gently in front of our faces. She watches it with fascination, eyes shining, not looking away once. “Until they’re hovering right above us,” I continue. “That’s how they can look down and see if we’re alright. And sometimes, they even send messages to us.”

“Messages?” she asks, hopeful. But in a second, as soon as that hope appeared, it flashes away. “I’ve never heard any messages.” 

“They always try again,” I say. “Just in case we’ve missed it.” 

With her lips parted, I can tell she wants to be amazed, be taken with my story that I made up when I was very small. It was the only comfort I had back then. I wasn’t sure if I’d remember it, but it came like no time passed at all. “I think my mommy died because I was bad,” she murmurs, unable to look at me any longer. “I wanna go where she is.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “You don’t wanna go, it’s too soon. And people don’t die because you’re bad. They die because it’s their time. Lots of things happen… but no. You… you were not bad at all. You’re wonderful.” She looks up at me again, latching onto the word. “Think of all the people who are here now who love you. They’d be so sad and upset if you went. Your daddy loves you. He really needs you, too.” 

She pushes her lips out and wipes at her cheeks, trying to hide the fact that she’s crying. “My daddy doesn’t think she’s in heaven,” she whispers. 

I falter a bit. I wasn’t sure about their religious beliefs, but that statement makes them pretty clear. It makes me a little angry, though, that he wouldn’t tell her such a thing for comfort. Her mother is gone and always has been. What’s wrong with putting a beautiful picture in a child’s head as to where she is instead? “Well, maybe deep down inside, he does…” I say, catching her attention again. “And he’s just so jealous of those angels who get to play with your mommy every day. He just can’t bring himself to say so. Because he’s hurting, just like you’re hurting.” I place a hand on her back, the first meaningful contact since I’ve been with her. “And you’re going to hurt for a long time. Every day, it’ll get a little bit better… but you’ll always miss your mommy, and that’s okay.” I rub my hand in circles as she nods and stares at her tights-covered knees. “You know the other thing?” I ask. She looks up again. “How many songs have you played on the piano?”

She holds up the correct amount of fingers and says, “Two.” 

“That’s right, two,” I say. “And only by one composer! Nobody should go anywhere until they’ve played songs by Mozart, Bach, Beethoven, Chopin…” I smile and hold her hand, softly, subtly, between us. When I meet her eyes, I say with conviction, “There’s so much left for you to do.” 

…

When Jackson gets home, Athena and I are still at the piano. She’s been able to play every song that I’ve demonstrated - and after a few rounds of each, she gets them nearly perfect. I’ve never seen her smile as much as she has tonight, and the grinning doesn’t stop when he walks in the door. 

“Hello, ladies,” he says. 

“Daddy!” Athena exclaims, swiveling at the waist to watch him come in. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, sounding surprised. He meets my eyes, raises his eyebrows, and I nod. “What’s going on?”

“I can play any song April shows me,” she says. “Do you want to hear Courante?” 

“Courante,” he says, standing beside her at the bench. “What a word.”

“It’s a style of music, daddy,” she says. “It was written by Jean-Philippe Rameau and April showed it to me. Want me to play it?” 

“I’d love that,” he says. 

Sitting up straight and positioning her arms in the way I showed her, Athena begins to play. I began to teach her the importance of dynamics and tempo, and it’s clear she’s taken the pointers to heart. She plays the song with feeling, like she’s the one who wrote it. It feels that personal. 

I tilt my head up to Jackson as she plays and he doesn’t look back, because all he can do is watch her. His eyes are huge, lips pressed tight together, face a bit pink. I have no idea what’s going on in his head, but I’m dying to know. I have no idea how I would react if Athena were my child; I would be overwhelmed with the potential. I hope he realizes how special this is and how rare. It would be a shame to see a talent like hers brushed to the side. 

When she finishes, she lifts her hands and smiles, glowing with pride in the direction of her father. She hugs herself and rocks back and forth as he begins to clap, slowly at first and then faster. “I did it!” she cheers, smiling so hard that her eyes squint. 

“Yes, you did,” he says, coming around to scoop her up from the bench. He cradles her and spins her around, and I watch with admiration. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen the two be affectionate with one another, and it’s a beautiful moment. “You’re spectacular, baby girl. Unbelievable.” He kisses her face and she giggles and shrieks, kicking her legs with happiness. When she calms down, he looks at her and says, “You know what?”

“What?” 

“While you were playing, you looked just like her.”

I hear her take a small inhale before saying, “My mom?” 

“Yes, your mom,” he says. “You reminded me so much of her.” 

I grin softly as I watch Athena soak up his praise. She throws her arms around his neck and stays there while he rubs her back, his eyes on me. The expression in them thanks me while his mouth says nothing - but that’s okay. I know the feeling. This moment is too loaded to be encompassed by something verbal. 

“Okay, daddy, put me down now,” she says after a few moments have gone by. “I wanna keep playing now. I wanna hear Mommy’s messages to me .” 

He sets her down and gives her a dubious look. “Messages?” he says. 

“I need to hear them by myself,” she insists as I stand up from the bench. 

“Alright, alright,” Jackson says, then nods towards the kitchen with his eyes on me. “You wanna come and help me with dinner?” He pauses. “I mean, you don’t have to. I was just hoping we could chat about what you guys have been up to today.” 

“Sure,” I say, then turn to Athena as Jackson has already begun to walk away. I swoop my hand through the air like the angels from before and she smiles widely, life finding its way to her face. 

He preheats the oven and I open the fridge, but I’m only standing there a second before he comes over, too. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You just sit. I can handle dinner.” 

“It’s part of my job description,” I say, smirking over my shoulder. 

“And I’m giving you the night off,” he says, pressing a hand to the small of my back to guide me away from the fridge. I try not to jump at the contact, but I flinch anyway. Not for a bad reason - actually, for a very good one. The way his hand feels there, such an intimate spot, makes a shudder run through me. I hope he didn’t notice. “Go sit.” 

“Alright,” I say, getting comfortable at the bar across from the sink. 

“She was smiling,” he says, looking inside the fridge. “I haven’t seen her smile like that in a really long time.” 

I smile myself, thinking about it while listening to the music coming from the front room. “It’s so cool, what she can do,” I say. “She’s so proud of herself. And she should be!”

He nods, then turns around with few raw chicken breasts wrapped in butcher paper. “You’re right,” he says. “And hey. I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night. 

“About that,” I begin. “It was-” 

“Completely on point,” he finishes. “You’re right. I do need to put Athena first more often. She’s not a baby anymore. I can’t just hold her on my hip while I go about my business and assume that’s doing enough. She’s a big kid now. She needs more attention, and I realize that. Believe me, you’re not the first person who’s told me.” 

“She loves you,” I say, glad that he’s not angry with me for what I said. After I left that night, I was afraid I was going to wake up to being fired over text. “She wants to be close to you.” 

“I used to know her better,” he says, but then contemplates his words. “Well, maybe. Maybe before, she was just easier to know. Now that she’s getting older, she has all these complex thoughts. I don’t always know what to do with them.” 

“Listen,” I offer. “That’s all you need to do. Listen and let her know that you hear her.” 

He chuckles a bit, putting three chicken breasts onto a pan and sliding them into the oven after seasoning them. “You know a lot about kids,” he says. 

I shake my head. “No, not really,” I say. “But I was raised by a single dad, too, so I know how it goes. I know that it feels like you can’t relate sometimes, and that probably won’t change. All she needs to know is that you’re trying.”

“I appreciate that,” he says earnestly, shutting the oven door. “I’m sure your dad is great. Probably way better at this whole fatherhood thing than I am.”

“Not better,” she says. “Different, but… better? I don’t think it’s so easy to compare parents like that.” 

“You’re kind to say so,” he replies, warmth in his eyes. “What does he do?”

“We own a family farm in Ohio,” I say. “He’s been running it my whole life.”

“Ah,” Jackson says. “So, what does he think of his little girl living in the big city, then?” 

I laugh. “He hates it,” I say. “He doesn’t come to visit if he can help it. I always go home to visit him.”

“Are you an only child?”

I nod. “They wanted to have more,” I say. “But my mom died when I was 7, so they never got the chance.” 

His face falls; he obviously hadn’t been expecting me to say that. “Oh,” he says. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s okay. MS is a bitch.” He’s quiet for a moment and I wonder if I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s a tricky subject - I’m never sure how people will react. “I didn’t mean to make you think about…” I begin.

“Oh, no,” he says. “I mean, I was thinking about her. But not in a bad way. Just kind of… I don’t know. Thinking about how you and Thena are similar.” He meets my eyes and smiles. “She’s lucky to have you around. We are, I mean. Our family.” 

I grin, pressing my lips together, and feel my cheeks redden. “Thanks,” I say. “I like being here, too.”

Dinner takes quite a long time to cook, and before it’s finished the piano music in the other room stops. I only notice the silence in the back of my mind and I don’t acknowledge it, but I can’t help but wonder what Athena is up to out there. 

Once dinner is on the table, I stand up and tell Jackson I’m going to get his daughter. I realize, just then, that it was assumed I would eat here tonight with them. He hadn’t asked nor had I thought to leave before now, and I wonder if that’s a good or dangerous thing. “Athena,” I call, walking through the dining room to get to the front. “Dinner’s ready.” I get no response, which makes me frown with curiosity. “Athena?” I get closer to the piano after seeing her legs still hanging over the bench and when I get near enough, I see she’s doubled over with her head resting on her forearms, fast asleep. I smile and stay a moment to soak up the image, then go back into the kitchen. 

“Where is she?” Jackson asks, setting out glasses of water. 

“Asleep at the keys,” I say. “Like a true virtuoso.” 

“Oh,” he says, following me out there. “She’s whooped. I’ll put her in bed. She’ll be out for the rest of the night and I’ll suffer consequences if I wake her up now.” 

“Do you want me to leave?” I ask, edging towards the door. “Since she’s…” 

“Oh,” he whispers, turning around with Athena cradled in his arms. “If you still want to stay, I’d like that.” 

“It’s better than eating alone,” I agree, smiling. “See you in a sec.” 

I sit at the table and wait, and when Jackson comes back down he looks happy and peaceful. There aren’t any worry lines on his forehead and the corners of his mouth are turned up instead of down. “Out like a light,” he says, eyeing the water glasses. “You know, since she’s asleep… would you rather we have wine instead?” 

“Sure,” I say. “I like wine.” 

“Cool,” he says, then gets up to pour it. 

He sets a goblet in front of me and I take a smaller sip than I’d like, watching him over the lip of the glass. I know I shouldn’t let myself think it, but this almost feels like a date. Almost. If I let my mind go there, it would feel like a date. “Wow,” I say. “This is really good.”

“Montoya Cabernet,” he says, taking a sip as well. “One of my favorites. Can’t go wrong.”

“Sometimes, I’m picky with red,” I say. “I was afraid I wasn’t gonna like it.”

“As long as you didn’t spit it at me,” he says, chuckling. “I’m glad you like it. There’s always more.” 

I look down at the plate after sizing up the wine and see a beautiful roasted chicken breast with seasoning, brown rice and fresh green beans - the sight alone makes my stomach growl. I cut up my chicken and take a bite, letting my eyes roll back as I do. It’s not that I’m a bad cook, because I’m not, but Steph is picky about what she likes so I don’t get to stretch the muscle often. I haven’t tasted chicken like this in a long time, maybe since living at home with my dad. “So good,” I say, still chewing. “So, so good.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, glowing. Then, suddenly, he reaches across and thumbs something off of my cheek and wipes it on a napkin. “Little bit of parsley,” he says. 

“Oh,” I say, blushing. “I was obviously saving that.” 

He laughs, the happiness finding its way to his beautiful eyes. It strikes me that Athena must have inherited her chestnut eyes from her mother, then. “Of course you were,” he says.

We finish dinner - both of us downing one and a half glasses of wine. By the time our plates are clear, though, I’m holding the bottle and pouring a generous, fresh glass for each of us. “Is this alright?” I ask. 

“Might as well finish it,” he says, and I start to pick up my plate and bring it to the sink before he stops me. “No need,” he says. “I can do that later. Do you want to go sit by the piano?”

“You figured out the way to my heart,” I say, lips a bit looser as I pick up my wine glass. 

He sits down first and I follow his lead, sitting a cushion away on the couch with one knee bent, an elbow resting on the back cushions. I glance at the piano while taking a sip and hear him say, “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” 

I nod. “It so is. Different than the one I usually play, but I actually like it better.” 

“Oh, you have a piano at your place, too?” he asks. 

I shake my head and take a drink. “No, no,” I say. “I couldn’t get something like that up the stairs, are you crazy?” I laugh. “I play for a restaurant. Lounge music, that kind of thing. I pick the songs, people leave me alone, I work shifts before I come to pick up Miss Athena. I like it. I have a lot of fun.” I wiggle my fingers around. “It keeps these guys warmed up.” 

“When you’re not teaching my daughter how to be a prodigy,” he says. 

“Oh, stop,” I say, leaning in. “That’s not something you can teach and you know it. Even if you could… I don’t have the ability. You think too highly of me.” 

“Maybe,” he says. “But maybe you deserve it.”

I take another sip and lock eyes with him as I do, smiling through the liquid. My lips are probably stained red at this point, but I can’t find it within myself to care. “I sing, too,” I say. “Remember, I told you?” 

“I remember.” 

“At The Whistler.” 

“On Milwaukee.” 

“Yeah, that’s the one,” I say. “The other night I sang Vincent by Don McLean. Do you know that song?” 

Suddenly, his eyes light up and he smiles wider than before. “That’s my favorite song ever,” he says. “I named Athena after the verse ‘swirling clouds in violet haze.’ Athena Violet.” 

“Oh yeah, you did,” I say, nodding.

He squints and asks, “How would you know that?” 

I think hard for a second and wonder the same thing. I really can’t remember. After a considerable amount of silence, I answer, “I honestly have no idea.” We both crack up after that and my glass tips, subsequently dribbling red wine down the front of my light pink shirt. “Oh, shit!” I say. “Shit. This is Steph’s!” 

“Hold on,” he says, hurrying to the kitchen. He comes back with a Tide pen only to realize that the stain is across my boobs, and his plan won’t work. “It won’t lift the stain unless we do it quick,” he says. “You know what? I have something you can wear.” He hurries upstairs and returns in a flash, handing me a t-shirt that’s worn and gray, with the word DEPAUL written across the chest in blue block script. I turn around quickly and put it on, handing the pink shirt over as soon as I’m clothed. My mind is buzzing and clouded as I watch him blot the stain with the pen, a look of intense concentration on his face. Once it’s applied, he looks back to me and breathlessly smiles. “Hope it’ll work,” he says. 

“Thanks,” I say. “Steph isn’t exactly aware I was wearing that today. So, you just saved my ass.” 

“No problem,” he says. I look down at the shirt I’m wearing and notice that it’s soft and fits me well - so, it’s not a man’s shirt. He must sense my realization because before I can open my mouth, he pipes up. “Yeah. That was hers. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d want to wear something of mine.” 

My face goes cold as the color drains from it. “Oh, no,” I say. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be in…” 

“I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t okay,” he insists. “She graduated from there. There’s a ton of old DePaul clothes upstairs that haven’t been touched or used since she died. It’s okay. I’ve actually been meaning to donate them, but… I haven’t had the time.” He sighs. “Work.” 

“Work,” I repeat, resting an elbow on my thigh. “Work, work, work. Is that all you know how to do?”

He glances from my eyes to my lips, then to my chest if I’m not mistaken. I’m not sure what he thinks he’ll be able to see under a high-necked t-shirt with a cotton bra underneath, but his eyes rove there anyway. “No,” he says. “No. At least, I don’t think so.” He shakes his head. 

“What’s your job, anyway?” I ask.

“I’m VP at MERGE downtown,” he says, and I pretend to know what that is. “I only got the position two years ago or so. I like to use the excuse that I’m still getting used to the workload.” 

“I think it’s more along the lines of that you’re addicted to it,” I say.

“Maybe,” he says, then nods to himself. “Probably.” He moves his lips to one side. “It wasn’t always like this. You might not believe me, but it wasn’t. Myla… she would hate it. She would really, really hate it.” 

“Well, I can see why,” I say, then change the subject. “Did she get to meet Athena?” 

“Once,” he says, and I can tell that he’s closing off. “She held her once, then they ripped her away and gave her to a nurse, pushed me out of the room as it all happened.” His lips tighten for a moment, then he shakes off the feeling and returns to the light and fizzy state he’d been in seconds prior. “I don’t like reliving that. Would you mind if we didn’t…?” 

“Of course not,” I say. “I’m sorry I asked. I… yeah. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not a problem,” he says, eyes darting to my lips again. 

“You sure seem to like talking about work, though,” I say. 

He shrugs, writing it off. “It’s not that I enjoy it,” he says. “But it comes easily. Once you get me going, I could sit here and go on about it all night long.”

“All night long?” I ask suggestively, and by the spark in his eye I can tell he knows exactly what I mean. 

“Until you tell me to stop,” he murmurs. 

I inhale sharply and lean in, smelling the intoxicating scent of red wine between us. He leans in, too, eyes burning into mine, before taking my neck and pulling my face closer to his. I don’t ask if this is okay and I don’t wait for him to, either. Instead, I copy his hand placement and plant mine on either sides of his neck before pressing my lips to his in a long, searing, heart-pumping kiss. 

It lasts for a while, that contact. And when it breaks, I don’t want there to be a moment where we stare at each other and gauge whether or not to go back for more. Instead, I open my mouth and tilt my head, touching his tongue with mine while feeling his hand solidify on the curve of my waist. I grab both sides of his head and squeeze my eyes shut, breathing his air as I kiss him hard, with everything I have. I hadn’t realized how much sexual tension had been building between us; all it took was two glasses of wine and now not a single clear thought can be found inside my head.

He presses a thumb to the middle of my neck and I moan against his lips, tipping my chin up as he kisses it and moves to my throat. He swipes hair out of the way as his lips find my earlobe, sucking on it gently while I grip his chest for some sort of support. “Fuck,” I breathe, nails digging in over his shirt. He moves lower, pulling down the neckline of the t-shirt so he can kiss my collarbones, then gets me on my back as a gust of air escapes both of us.

“You good?” he asks, one hand on my bare side where the shirt has ridden up.

“Yeah,” I say, looping my arms around his neck. “Are you?” 

“I’m great,” he says, kissing my chest over the cotton before realizing that won’t get him anywhere.

Just before he moves to kiss my jaw, I push him up by the shoulders and take the shirt off entirely. Now, I’m lying under him in a sky blue bra and jeans, nothing else. And his body feels so good resting on top of mine. I grab at his shoulder blades while he kisses my neck and turn my head to the side, inhaling deeply as his teeth graze over my pulse point. He smiles against my skin and I wrap my legs around him, trying my best not to let my hips work of their own accord. 

“You smell so good,” he says, threading his fingers through my hair. 

“It’s just hair product,” I say, letting my eyes flutter closed while he kisses me. 

“It can’t be,” he says, before kissing me again and sucking on my lower lip. “It has to be more than that.” 

“No…” I say, dragging my nails up and down his back. “You’re wrong.” 

“I haven’t been with enough ladies, apparently,” he says. “To know that you all smell so good.”

“You haven’t?” I ask, pulling his shirt up a bit to run my fingertips along the skin at the small of his back. It’s warm and soft, and I don’t plan on stopping.

He shakes his head, lips between my breasts. “No one since…” 

“Shit,” I say. “7 years?” He nods and I’m shocked. It’s not that 7 years is a long time without sex to me - I’ve gone my whole life. I’ve had a girlfriend and a couple boyfriends whom I’ve let touch me, who gave me half-ass orgasms, but I’ve never thought them serious enough to have sex with. Jackson, though, he’s attractive and older, it would seem that he’s had his fair share of women. With Athena in the house, though, I guess it’s not that simple. “You’re a virgin born again.” 

“Shut up,” he says, laughing as he kisses the swell of my breast spilling over the top of my bra. “God, shut up.” 

“You don’t really want that,” I say, smiling as I run my hands over his head.

“No, you’re right,” he says “I like hearing you talk. But right now…” He kisses me, strong and sure. “I’d like you to shut up.” 

I wrap my legs around him for a second time and let him work his magic - the man knows what he’s doing with his lips, teeth and tongue. Just because of the way he’s kissing me and palming my breasts, I start moving my pelvis against his thigh and an orgasm is closer than I’d like to admit. It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve given myself one, and I’m due. I want it badly, especially from him, but I don’t think the first one should happen like this. I’m absolutely caught up in this, in him, what we’re doing, but I’m not thinking clearly.

“Jackson,” I say, lips moving against his as I force my hips to stop. “Jackson, I have to go.” 

He pulls away, lips swollen as he looks at me with confusion. “You…” 

“Have to go,” I finish, sitting up and covering my bra-clad chest with one arm. Instead of going for Myla’s old shirt, though, I go for mine that’s still drying.

“Did I do something…?” he asks, sitting there stunned with an erection that’s impossible to ignore. It’s creating a tent out of his jeans and I can’t stop staring.

“No,” I say. “I like you. A lot. But I’m a little drunk. And I don’t wanna make any decisions that are…” I shrug. “I wanna be smart about this.” 

“Right,” he says, standing up while trying to compose himself. “Right.” 

He walks me to the door and watches as I put on my shoes. For the first time, I notice our height difference and it turns me on all over again. Blood still pumps through my veins at a fast, hot rate - I’d been very close to climax. I might have to get rid of this feeling once I get home. “Thanks for dinner,” I say, rocking onto my heels as I lean back against the door. 

He stands stiffly, like he isn’t sure what to do. So, I take the lead and pull him closer by a belt loop, allowing him to press me against the door frame so he can kiss me - slow, steady and sure. “Thank you,” he says, blinking hard once we pull away. “I…” He laughs at himself for stammering. “Shit. I… I will see you.” 

“Yes, you will,” I say, running a hand down his chest before pulling him in one more time. I kiss him soundly on the mouth and frame his face, loving the way he looks at me. “You definitely will.” 

…

At The Whistler the following night, Steph can tell something is up. It’s not common that we keep things from each other, but I can’t see myself telling her about what happened with Jackson. I already know she’ll judge me, have some sort of advice that I don’t want to hear. She doesn’t live inside my heart or head - she doesn’t know how I’m feeling and she doesn’t get to tell me what to think. So, for now, I decide to keep it to myself. 

My mind has been on Jackson all day while I waited to come sing. I can’t stop thinking about him. Everything about him. It’s a little obsessive, actually. But he’s so attractive - every aspect - that I can’t believe what happened actually occurred. It almost feels like a dream. 

“Hi everybody,” I say once the lights are up. Right now, I’m happier than I’ve been in a while. It seems that everything in my life is falling into place. “I’m April Skye. I’m singing Honey tonight, originally by Kehlani. I hope you enjoy.” I smile and close my eyes, both hands wrapped around the mic as I shift my weight from foot to foot. I listen to the guitar intro played by our friend, Shane, and tap my toe to the beat. “ _ I like my girls just like I like my honey… sweet, a little selfish… I like my women like I like my money… green, a little jealous…  ‘cause I’m a beautiful wreck, a colorful mess, but I’m funny… oh, I’m a heartbreak vet with a stone-cold neck yeah, I’m charming… _ ”

The song is slow and sweet, like honey. I sung it on purpose because the vibe it puts across is exactly how I’m feeling, like drowning in sweet wax. I hope it stays like this forever. I’ve never had a crush this big. 

When I get off the stage, Steph goes on. I stand and watch her from behind the tables instead of backstage this time, smiling as she introduces herself. Before she can start her first song, though, I feel a pair of strong arms wrap around me from behind and I gasp, totally caught off guard before I realize who it is. “I found you, April Skye,” a deep, familiar voice says.

I smile so hard that it hurts as I overlap his hands and turn around in his arms. “Jackson,” I say, still surprised at how my breath leaves me when I look at his face. “What are you doing?” 

He smiles, too, leaning down to press his nose to mine. He kisses me softly and says, “You like your girls like honey, do you?”

My cheeks heat up and redden as I flatten my hands on his chest, back bending as he holds me close. “I like my boys that way, too,” I say, scratching slightly with my nails. 

“Good to know,” he says, kissing me again. 

“What are you doing here,” I whisper. 

“I wanted to see the other side of you,” he says, swaying with the song Steph is singing. I couldn’t say what it was if someone paid me, it’s so far in the back of my mind. “The other part of your life.”

“That’s sweet,” I say, tilting my head up to see his eyes are shining. “But you can’t stay. I don’t want…” I glance over my shoulder and see a bunch of my friends, luckily all focused on Steph instead of what’s transpiring back here. “It’s… just not yet.”

“I get it,” he says. “I just wanted to see you. And I did.” 

“You did,” I say, winding my arms around his neck to pull myself higher and kiss him. “And now you have to go.” 

“I’m going,” he says, lingering as he pulls away, dragging his fingers off of my waist slowly. “I am.”

“You are,” I say, feeling cold as soon as his arms leave. I reach for them again and grab his wrists, pulling him back to kiss him one more time, one last time. “Okay,” I say, giggling. “Now, you are.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**APRIL**

On the train home from The Whistler, I’m caught up in a world I’m not sure I belong in. I have no idea what Jackson and I are doing and if we should be doing it at all, but even the wrongness of it feels right. He came to see me sing. He came all the way to Logan Square to watch a single song, and that’s not for nothing. No one’s ever done that for me before, no one but Steph, that is. I don’t count Rich, since he hadn’t known I was singing that night. Jackson came all that way just for me - without even knowing if I’d be there.

On the train, I write ‘ _Honey - Kehlani_ ’ in loopy script at the top of a new page. I put a heart after the last letter and doodle little stars around it, spending time making it look pretty. It’s the first song he’s ever heard from me, and that fact sits sweetly on my tongue. I couldn’t have picked a better song if I tried. It’s almost like, in the back of my mind, I knew he would be in the audience tonight.

“Sure are taking your sweet time writing that,” Steph says, and I acknowledge her by darting my eyes over for a second.

“Huh?” I say, overlapping the pen-marks a second time.

“I think you got it,” she says.

“Oh,” I say, laughing breathily. “I know.”

I close the book and keep it on my lap, bouncing my knees as we get closer to our stop. We’re not talking because Steph keeps her headphones in, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m lost in my head anyway, thinking about how easily Jackson wrapped his arms around my waist and spoke so close to me. I get goosebumps now thinking about it, and smile to myself. I turn my face away from Steph and towards the divider, cheesing so hard that my cheeks hurt. I pinch my eyes shut tight and shake my head, wiping the silly expression off my face so I can look forward again.

I glance at Steph to find her deadpan, staring straight ahead. Her eyes are half-lidded and unfocused, but her jaw is set firmly and her lips in an even frown. She usually has just as much sparkle about her after a performance as I do, but that’s not the case tonight and I can’t help but wonder why.

I don’t ask, though. Instead, I hum Honey under my breath and let a grin paint my lips, swaying back and forth with the movement of the train. When our stop finally comes, Steph gets up without motioning for me and I follow her easily, waiting by the door as it opens. She keeps her headphones in and leads the way down the stairs, too, but I catch up once we reach the sidewalk. “What are you listening to?” I ask, peering around to look her in the eyes. She doesn’t respond, so I point to my ears and ask again, “What are you listening to?”

She takes her earbuds out and shoots me an exasperated expression. “What?” she says, a bit of a snap in her tone.

“Oh,” I say, pulling back as I realize her mood. “I just asked what you’re listening to.”

“Youth acoustic,” she says. “Troye Sivan.”

“Oh, that’s such a good song,” I say, trying to encourage the conversation. She’s been off since we left the bar and I want to know what’s bothering her. I don’t like when things are weird between us, and that’s definitely the case right now.

“Yep. Sure is,” she states. “I like it so much that I sang it tonight. Maybe you would’ve known had you paid any fucking attention at all.”

“Wait,” I say, blinking hard while trying to process what she just said. “Wait, what?”

“You wanna tell me who you were making out with while my set was up?” she barks.

“Wait…”

“Yeah, wait,” she says. “And you weren’t gonna tell me about it, either, were you? You didn’t say a fucking word this whole time. You were nowhere to be fucking found when I came off the stage.”

I think back to earlier tonight when I’d been caught up in Jackson while she was singing, admittedly so. I hadn’t had a clue what song she was performing, and in that moment I didn’t care. I realize it was horrible of me, but I wouldn’t be mad if the tables were turned. We sing for each other all the time, it’s not a rare occurrence. I was walking Jackson to the door when applause rang through the room, he was stealing more kisses - and of course, I was letting him. I was enjoying it too much not to let him. “I saw you a few minutes later!” I say, defensive. “It’s not like I left without saying congratulations.”

“Yeah, you’re a saint,” she says. “I pay complete and total attention whenever you’re on stage, and you can’t do the same for me. That feels really great.”

“Why are you getting so mad?” I ask, unlocking the door to our apartment. “It was one single song. I was still there. I still heard it. I just didn’t see it.”

“You heard it, my ass. You didn’t even know what it was ‘til I told you.”

“Okay…!?” I concede. “So, I didn’t hear it. It was _one song_. Do you think you’re gonna live to see tomorrow?”

“Oh, no way,” she says. “You’re not turning this around.”

“I’m not turning it around,” I say, kicking off my shoes. “I just think you’re overreacting. I love you, Steph, you know that. Just because I missed one song doesn’t mean I don’t care about what you do.”

“I haven’t sung in forever and I was freaking out,” she says. “I didn’t say anything because I could tell your mind was somewhere else. Turns out it was with some fucking guy!”

“Were you spying on me?” I spit, throwing my hands up. “Also, I’m sorry you were nervous. I really am. You had no reason to be, you’re amazing, but how was I supposed to freaking know unless you told me?”

“I don’t know, maybe ask how I’m feeling?” she says. “I could barely get you to focus on anything while we were backstage. Now I know why. You were thinking about him.”

“Him!” I burst. “I didn’t even know he was gonna be there. I was present for you. I always am.”

“Oh, always.”

“Yes, always!” I say. “I’m behind you no matter what. Don’t try and pretend otherwise, because that’s just stupid. You just wanna pick a fight.”

“No, I don’t,” she says. “I’m upset because you’re keeping shit from me. We don’t keep shit from each other, April. You’re my best friend, and I thought I was yours.”

“God, Steph, of course you’re mine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Don’t be like that.”

“Then why are you keeping secrets?” she asks, sounding a little desperate. Her eyes are glassy and I will her not to cry. I don’t know what’ll happen if she does - she doesn’t break down often.

“Oh my god, it’s not some big thing,” I say, widening my eyes and turning around. “He’s just this guy I’m seeing. It’s nothing.” She doesn’t have to know how thin those words actually are if they’ll get me out of this situation. I have no idea what Jackson and I are doing or if I’m even ‘seeing’ him at all - all I know is that he makes me feel alive and excited and I haven’t had that with someone for a while. I don’t want to tell her about it because she won’t understand, all I’ll get is a lecture. I don’t know if I want to tell her yet - If I’m ever going to do it, it’s going to be at my own pace, in my own time. Not like this.

“So, you can bring this guy to the bar but you can’t tell me who he is,” she says flatly.

“Oh my- I didn’t bring him!” I shrill. “He just showed up. I told him to leave. What more did you want me to do, call security?”

“Told him to leave before or after his tongue was down your throat?” she counters.

“Holy shit,” I say. “Why do you care so much? I don’t owe you every single bit of information about my life! I’m aware that I don’t have a mom, Steph, but you’re not her substitute.”

“Oh, don’t go there,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s so cheap. Because who has to pick you up after these assholes hurt you? Me! No one else is gonna do it and you sure as shit can’t do it yourself; it’s always me. So, yeah, I think I’m owed a little more information. I would tell _you_.”

“What we’re doing isn’t that serious!” I say.

“Oh, that’s smart,” she says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I retort.

“‘Cause you’re _clearly_ very much over Izzie,” she says with an eyebrow raise.

“Hold up,” I say, laughing for effect. “Wait. Are you serious? Are you honestly serious right now?”

“Yeah, I am,” she says. “You’re being dumb about this and you know it. You and Izzie broke up, what, five months ago?”

“Yeah, five freaking months!” I say. “Five months is a long time. You know that we eventually ended on mutual circumstances, so I don’t know why you’re saying this to me. I don’t even think about her anymore.”

“Sure,” she says. “Which is why you still have the pictures up and you erased your relationship status on Facebook instead of switching it back to single.”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” I say, voice rising higher. “Why are you being like this? Oh my god, you wonder why I don’t tell you shit. Because of this! I can handle my own fucking life Steph, Jesus Christ.”

“You sure couldn’t when she broke it off,” she argues. “And who picked you up then?”

“You,” I spit. “Okay? You. You’re my savior. Is that what you wanna hear? Thank god for you, Steph, otherwise I’d be dead from a broken heart because of my ex-girlfriend.”

Izzie had been my first and so far, last girlfriend. We met at The Grand Luxe - she had gotten stood up for a first date and hung out by the piano all night, nursing a glass of wine. We locked eyes way too many times for it to be happenstance and ended up going home together. We didn’t have sex - we never did - but we made out and she slept over on the first night. I had no clue what I was doing, no clue if I should have done it, but it felt right at the time. Being with her was fun and lighthearted and she made me laugh. She also made me realize my bisexuality, which I’ll always thank her for. I don’t regret being with her and I don’t regret our relationship ending, but I do miss her sometimes. It’s natural to miss her. It’s not weird to keep pictures up to remember the good times. It doesn’t mean that I want to get back with her, because I don’t. In some ways, we were too alike and butted heads because of it. Our relationship wasn’t moving forward, so it ended. She was ready to move on and even though I initially hung on tighter, I’m ready now, too. I’m not hanging on anymore.

“You’re so fucking dramatic,” she says. “I’m not trying to fight with you.”

“Obviously, yeah, you are,” I say, turning my back. “You’re throwing old shit in my face and making me feel awful. What a great best friend you are. I can’t even breathe without you judging me.”

“Whatever, April,” Steph says. “Whatever.”

“Mature.”

“If you don’t wanna tell me about this guy, fine. Don’t tell me. See if I give a fuck. But also, don’t expect me to come scoop you up and rescue you when you get hurt.”

“I never asked to be rescued!” I say.

“Not yet,” she says.

“I’m done with this,” I say, waving one hand as I head towards my room. “I’m done. I’m going to bed.”

“Fine,” she says.

I don’t slam my door because I’m not a child, but I shut it and flop down on my bed to face the wall. I stare at it and my eyes burn with tears; I feel alone and completely at a loss. Steph and I almost never fight, and when we do, it’s usually just petty disagreements. Nothing like this. She’s never brought up Izzie like that to me, and the fact that she would go there hurts. I didn’t know she had the propensity, nor do I like that she apparently does. Bringing up my ex only puts her on my mind, which hurts, too. I’m not lying to myself - I don’t want her back. But I do miss her presence in my life.

I pull out my phone and stare at the screen, swiping away notifications from Twitter and Facebook and the like. I go to the Messages app and click the Compose button on the upper right and type in “I.” Immediately, Izzie’s contact - the one I never thought to change since we split - comes up. ‘Izzie baby’ with heart emojis on either side. I wipe my eyes as the tears have begun to leak out and sniffle dramatically, knowing it’s not a good idea to call her. I don’t need to call her. I’m happy in the beginning stage of something brand new and I shouldn’t be doing this. It’ll only be confusing, and I really don’t need that.

Should I call Jackson instead? That doesn’t seem right, either. He doesn’t want to hear me crying past midnight after he left me so giddy at the bar. It won’t make any sense to him, and what am I supposed to say? _Hi, Jackson, sorry I’m sad but I’m thinking about my ex and how we didn’t work out, and I don’t want her back but I don’t know what you and I are doing so I’m really confused can you just talk to me?_ I refuse to burden him with that. It sounds crazy.

So, I press the phone button next to Izzie’s contact and surprisingly don’t feel any nerves whatsoever as the phone rings. Instead, I feel calm knowing I might get to hear her voice. Not because I’m still in love with her, but because with her comes a sense of familiarity and home. “Hello?” she says, and I can’t help but smile and remember the nights I spent in the dark on the phone with her in this same bed. “April?”

“Hi,” I say, realizing my voice is wavering. I don’t want to cry, that would be pathetic. I won’t do that. “Hi… I’m sorry. I don’t know why I called. I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?” she asks, using the same comforting tone she always used to.

“I’m okay,” I say. “Well, mostly. I just wanted to… to talk, I guess.”

“Okay,” she says. “What’s up?”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I met someone,” I say. “And I really like him. A lot.”

“Okay…”

I close my eyes and wrap one foot around an ankle, pulling my knees up to my chest. “I really, really like him. But… it’s really hard to for me to admit that I’m still sad about you.” A tear slides out of one eye and over the bridge of my nose. “About me and you. Steph and I just got in a huge fight and she kinda threw it back in my face and… I didn’t wanna talk to anyone else but you. Is it okay? That I’m still sad?”

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I’m still sad about you, too.”

“Oh,” I say, not expecting her to agree. “You are?”

“Yeah,” she says. “But we weren’t gonna work, Apple.”

“I know,” I say. “And I’m not even saying I want that. I just didn’t know if it was normal to be a little sad and still wanna move on.”

“It is,” she says.

“I didn’t call to ask for permission, by the way,” I say defensively.

“I know,” she says, then I hear a smile. “But it is nice to hear your voice.”

I smile, too. “You, too,” I say, feeling a weight lift off my chest. This makes things at least an inch easier, and that’s all I can ask for at the moment. “Can I tell you something else?”

“Sure.”

“I’m his daughter’s nanny.”

She chuckles a little, just lightly, just enough. “I’m happy for you,” she says. “I wish you all the best.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“I’m gonna have to let you go now,” she says.

“Oh,” I say. “Why?”

“Well, I have someone here waiting for me.”

I hear a beeping sound in my ear directly after she says the words and then see Jackson’s name come up on the screen. “Oh,” I say. “Me, too.”

“Good luck,” she says.

“You, too,” I respond. “Bye, Bizzy.”

By the time I hang up with her, I feel lighter but also all talked out. I don’t think I’d be capable of saying much to Jackson right now, at least not speaking aloud. So, I let it go to voicemail and send him a text afterwards.

 

> **SENT, 12:21am-** Sorry I’m just about to fall asleep. But thanks for coming tonight… really :)
> 
> **RECEIVED, 12:21am-** Hey no problem. And of course. It was my pleasure. Maybe one of these days you’ll let me stay.
> 
> **SENT, 12:22am-** Maybe ;) Night.

…

The next day, I work the early shift at The Grand Luxe and successfully avoid Steph in the apartment. I try to take my mind off of everything that happened last night as I play, and it works for the most part. Music always helps to clear my head and when it’s time to pick Athena up, I’m feeling better than I have all day.

And upon seeing her, it’s clear that she’s feeling pretty good, too. For possibly the first time ever, she trots down the front steps with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step, grabbing my hand the moment she sees me. “April,” she says.

“Hey, Athena,” I say, squeezing her palm and relishing the feeling of it tucked inside my own.

“Tag! You’re it!”

Suddenly, two blonde heads come rushing by and tag Athena at the same time, jostling her shoulders and knocking her off-balance. She scowls for a moment, then looks confusedly up towards me. “They tagged you,” I say, nodding towards the twins as they run off. I can only assume they belong to Lexie, whom I met the other day. “You gotta run after them.”

“I don’t wanna play with them,” she says. “They’re messy and they pick their noses all the time and wipe it on the rug.”

I snort with laughter but try to keep it in. “They might be fun, though. Never know.”

“I do know,” she says. “I just wanna play with you. Come on.” She tugs me towards the playground with surprising strength and I follow without a fight, smiling along the way. I like seeing her so eager to do kid things instead of going straight home without a word traded between us. I’ve been wanting to spend time at this playground with her since the day I started. “What now?” she asks once we’re standing in the middle of the wood chips.

“We play,” I say, shrugging.

“Play what?”

“Anything you want,” I say. “Wanna try the slide?”

“It electric shocks me,” she says. “No.”

“Okay…” I say. “Then, how about the monkey bars?”

“I don’t know how to do those,” she says, still standing in the same place.

“You don’t?” I say. “I’ll teach you. Come on.”

“You’re a big person,” she says. “You can’t do the monkey bars.”

“Wanna bet?” I say, challenging her. “I can do them better than anyone here. Come watch.” Dubiously, she follows me over and watches me climb up onto the platform and rub my hands together. “The key to monkey bars isn’t in your hands,” I say. “Much to most people’s surprise. It’s in the way you swing your legs.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It will,” I say. “Just give me a second.” I pretend to spit on each palm and that makes a smirk appear on her lips even as she tries to fight it. “A one, a two, a three,” I say, then take a leap to the first one. I swing my hips back and forth and use the momentum from my legs to propel me to the next bar, then move along the row fluidly until the end. “Ta-da!” I say, arms above my head. “Easy as pie.”

“That is not easy!” she says.

“It is if you make it easy,” I say. “Here. Look.” I go back the way I came except this time, singing a little tune. “Skinna-ma-rinky-dinky-dink… skinna-ma-rinky-doo… I… love… you!” As I land on my feet, I lift my arms over my head a second time. “See? So easy I can sing right through it.”

She shakes her head and looks at me like I’m crazy. “You’re acting silly,” she says.

“It’s fun to be silly,” I say, hopping down from the platform. “You wanna try?”

“I can’t do that,” she says.

“What, act silly? Or do the monkey bars?”

“My daddy was silly this morning,” she says. “I didn’t even know he was silly because he’s never been that way before, but he was acting crazy.”

“Oh, was he?” I ask, watching as she climbs onto the platform of her own volition. I decide not to make a big deal out of it. “What was he doing?”

“Singing crazy,” she says. “But good. He’s good at singing.”

I smile to myself as I picture it; I can’t help it. “Oh, yeah?” I say. “What song was he singing?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “But he was singing loud. I never heard him sing before ever. And twirling me around and smiling and making me laugh. We didn’t even fight today.”

“That’s great news,” I say, something warm spreading in my chest. “That’s really great news. So, you had fun with him this morning?” She nods. “Fun mornings are the best,” I add.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Maybe you want to ask him to sing later when he gets home.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say. “Maybe singing is just something special he does for you.”

“Maybe,” she says. “Don’t know.” Then, she lifts her arms as high as she can only to realize she can’t reach the first bar. So, she looks over and makes eye contact with me, saying, “Help.”

“Lift you?” I ask, wanting to make sure it’s okay. The last thing I need is her faking me out and throwing a tantrum because I’ve laid hands on her. After all this progress, that would be a huge step back.

“Yeah,” she says. “I can’t reach.”

“Alright,” I say, solidifying two hands around her tiny waist as I raise her hands to the bar. “Okay, now swing your legs back and forth and try to force one hand to the next bar.”

With a concentrated look on her face, she tries it out. Her hips swing back and forth much like mine did, but her focused confidence soon turns into something like desperation. “I can’t do it!” she shrieks. “Help me, help me! Grab me!”

With a smile, I wrap my arms around her and gently set her down on the ground. She dusts off her hands and looks up at me, winded. “That was too hard,” she says. “And it hurt my hands. My hands have to stay special.”

I laugh a little. “They do?”

“Yeah,” she says, wiggling her fingers. “For playing piano.”

“Oh, of course,” I say.

“Daddy said he would sign me up for lessons,” she says. “From a really good teacher. But I said no to him.”

I recoil a bit, surprised at her answer. I had expected her to jump at the prospect of lessons. “Oh, really?” I ask. “Why’d you say no? I thought for sure that lessons would be something you’re interested in.”

“No,” she says, taking my hand again to lead me away from the monkey bars. “I don’t want lessons from a boring stranger.” She looks up and gives me a sparkling look, one in which I can see so much of her father in. “I only want to learn from you.”

…

When Jackson gets home later that night, Athena is at the piano and has been there for a couple hours. Admittedly, I didn’t force her to read or do any other homework because she cares so much about the music she’s creating. I think, for right now, that it’s okay to let her prioritize it over other things. I was sitting there and working with her for a while until it was time to make dinner, and I’m still in the kitchen as I hear Jackson greet his daughter.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says. “Just playing away?”

“Yep,” she says, notes still flowing.

“Good day?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you think any more about what I asked you this morning?” he says. “About taking lessons?”

“Still don’t want to,” she says. “I told April I just wanna learn from her and that’s it. She said okay.”

“I just wanna let you know,” I say, peering out from the kitchen while wearing oven mitts. “I’m not the best there ever was at playing the piano. I might not be as advanced as what you might need. There might come a day where you know more than me and I can’t teach you anything else.”

“Yeah, but that day’s not now,” she says and Jackson looks at me pointedly, eyebrows raised as if to say his daughter has made a point.

“Alright,” I say, conceding with a smile. “Dinner’s almost ready, by the way.”

“I need to play my songs more,” she says. “I’m not hungry yet.”

I walk back into the kitchen and hear Jackson and Athena’s conversation finish up before he heads in to join me. “Hey,” he says, keeping his distance and standing at the island while I’m at the sink peeling potatoes. “How was your guys’ day?”

“Good,” I say, eyes in the sink. “Really good.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. “We actually played on the playground for a little bit. I showed her how to do the monkey bars.”

“You got on the monkey bars?”

“Yeah,” I say, laughing. “You sound so surprised. What, you think I’m a weakling?”

“No,” he says with a smile. “Not at all. It’s just a funny image.”

“She thought so, too,” I say. “She didn’t quite master them, but we’ll get there.”

“Good,” he says. “I like that you have her doing things kids her age are doing. She’s never been great at that.”

“The other day she asked me what I meant by the word ‘play,’’” I tell him. “After that, I knew something needed to be done. I still play now and I’m like, 24.”

“You play too much,” he says with a chuckle.

“Ha,” I say, and notice that he’s getting closer.

My cheeks heat up as he leans against the counter, resting his weight on one hand as he faces the side of my body. We’re both quiet for a long moment, only the sounds of the potato peeler and faraway piano filling the space. Then, he takes a breath to say, “So… about the other night.”

“Mm-hmm,” I prompt.

He smiles and exhales; I can hear his expression. “Yeah. I… I don’t know if that was too much, if I came on too strong. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and what happened between us and I might have acted irrationally. If it made you uncomfortable, me being there…”

“It didn’t,” I cut in.

“Oh,” he says. “No?”

“No,” I say, then turn my head. “I’m just not ready for people to… know.”

“For them to know.”

“Yeah.”

“About what we’re doing,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say again. “Whatever it is.” I pause for a moment, take a breath, then ask, “What _is_ it, anyway?” I motion between the two of us with a wet, potato-covered hand. “This.”

He licks his lips and looks at mine. “I don’t know,” he says.

“Yeah, me neither,” I agree.

“I know that I like you,” he says. “That’s what I know.”

“I like you, too,” I say, cheeks warming even further.

“And I haven’t felt like this in a long, long time,” he says. “I can’t stop thinking about you. That’s where I’m at.” I duck my chin and blush, grinning uncontrollably. “What?” he says playfully. “What, are you laughing at me?”

“No,” I insist. “No, no. It’s just… this is so much. It’s a lot to take in. My heart is doing flips.”

“Thank god I’m not the only one.”

“Oh, my god,” I say, nudging my hair out of my face with my shoulder. Seeing my struggle, though, he reaches to tuck it behind my ear slowly, fingertip dragging along my cheekbone. “Thanks,” I breathe.

“Do you want to… see each other?” he asks nervously. It lights me up inside, knowing he’s nervous. I can tell, even just after the few weeks of knowing him, that he is not a person who gets nervous. I feel a sense of pride that I was able to make him feel as much.

“I see you every day,” I tease.

He sighs, puffing his lips out. “Okay,” he says. “You want me to say it, okay.” He inhales to clear his head and starts again. “April, would you like to go out with me?”

“Sure,” I whisper, setting the peeler down while checking the kitchen entryway to make sure it’s empty. “As long as you take me somewhere nice.”

“Of course I will,” he says, looking over his shoulder to check if the coast is clear as well. Finding that it is, he winds his arms around my waist and looks into my eyes, smiling at our close proximity.

“Okay,” I say. “Then, yes. I’d love to date you. Go on a date with you.”

“I wanna learn more about you,” he says.

“Then all you have to do is ask,” I say, standing on tiptoes to touch his nose with the tip of mine. “On our date.”

“I can’t wait,” he says, then kisses me. I close my eyes and let it linger, swaying back and forth as I drop back onto my heels.

“Mmm,” I say against his lips before pulling away. When we do, he keeps me in his arms and I make no move to leave. “Athena said you were singing this morning,” I murmur.

“She ratted me out, huh?” he says, fingers spread out on the small of my back. It amazes me how far his hands reach, how big they are. He makes me feel small in the most exciting way. He digs the pads into my spine and gives me a subtle little massage that I melt into.

“Yep,” I say. “I asked her what you were singing, but she didn’t know.” I pause for a second then flatten my hands on his chest, one over each pec. “Wanna tell me?”

“ _Though I’ve tried before to tell her of the feelings I have for her in my heart, every time that I come near her, I just lose my nerve as I’ve done from the start…_ ” He smiles softly and holds each side of my waist in his strong hands, and I’m floored by the quality of his voice. I never expected it to sound so clear, so strong, yet sweet at the same time. “ _Every little thing she does is magic, everything she does just turns me on, even though my life before was tragic, now I know my love for her goes on…_ ”

“I love that song,” I say, kissing him. “Also, you didn’t bother to tell me that you could sing.”

“You didn’t ask,” he says. “Guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me, too.”

“Guess so.”

Interrupting us, the sound of the doorbell rings throughout the house. Given that the music from the piano doesn’t stop, it’s clear Athena doesn’t plan on getting it, so Jackson makes his way over with me walking at his side. He pulls open the door, and there’s a woman there holding a bag over one arm and looking expectant. “Maggie,” Jackson says, and I instantly know this is the aunt Athena talks about. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi to you, too,” she says, stepping inside. As soon as she does, she eyes the nonexistent distance between Jackson and me - the way our upper arms touch, the easy way we stand near each other. I see the judgment flit behind her eyes, quick as a flash, before she says, “You must be the nanny.”

Before I know it, Athena is next to me - equally as close as Jackson is. “That’s my April,” she says, both hands wrapping around my wrist.

“Ah, yes,” Maggie says. “I’ve heard plenty about you.” She eyes Jackson. “Is this the one Thena said you liked?”

“Yeah, but don’t tell her what else I said before. I like her now. So, don’t say it,” Athena says insistently.

“Someone’s feeling a little bossy tonight,” Maggie says.

“Can I ask the reason for your visit?” Jackson asks, taking a step away from me. I take the hint and keep close to Athena without looking at him.

“You left these at the house,” she says, handing over the bag she’d been carting. “I washed them for you.” She looked pointedly at Athena. “Your clothes, little miss.” Then, she looks to me. “How do you like working for my brother?”

“Oh,” I say, blushing. It’s like she knows what we’re doing and is shoving the fact that I’m employed by him in my face. I feel so uncomfortable, so put on the spot. “I like it. It’s… well, it’s Athena’s world, we’re just living in it.”

“Heard you’re the only person she’ll play that piano for,” Maggie says tersely. I don’t know what I did to get on her bad side, but it seems I’ve made a home there already.

“No. I play for Daddy now, too,” Athena says.

“How about me?” Maggie says. “When are you gonna play for me?”

Athena takes my arm and places it in front of her face, hiding as she says, “I don’t know.”

“Maybe you could play something for her now,” I encourage.

“I don’t need your help,” Maggie snaps.

“Hey,” Jackson says, narrowing his eyes. “What’s wrong with you today?”

Her eyes flash between her brother and me as she shakes her head. “I gotta go,” she says. “I’ll see you later, Thena. Jackson.”

“You’re not being very nice to April!” Athena calls after Maggie has started down the steps. She doesn’t turn around, though. She either doesn’t hear or pretends not to. So, Athena turns to Jackson with both arms thrown around my waist in a protective, territorial way. “She wasn’t very nice to my April.”

“Oh, your April,” Jackson says. “She’s your April now?”

“My April,” Athena repeats for emphasis, hugging me closer. I rest a hand on her back and smile down at her, feeling a deep sense of accomplishment. “Mine. Only I can have her. Nobody else. Not even you.”


	7. Chapter 7

**JACKSON**

“Why was auntie Maggie mean to my April?” Athena asks, staring at me with furrowed eyebrows. “I didn’t like it. Get her back, daddy, and tell her she can’t do that.” 

“No, Thena,” I say tiredly. 

“Why?” she argues. “I told on her, now you have to do something.” 

“Auntie Maggie is an adult,” I say. “I can’t make her act a certain way. It was wrong how she treated April, you’re right. But I can’t control her.” 

“You can tell her she was bad!” 

“It wouldn’t do any good,” I say. 

“Well, why was she being like that then?” she continues, pressing the subject. “April didn’t even say anything barely. And auntie Maggie was giving her mean looks.” She pauses and bunches her fists. “I’ll yell at her!”

“Hey, we’re not gonna yell at anybody,” I say.

“You’re not even answering,” she gripes. “Tell me why she was being mean.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe she was in a bad mood. I don’t know the reason why, Athena.” 

“Now you’re using a mean voice, too!” she whines. “Just tell me why auntie Maggie doesn’t like my April.” 

“I already said I don’t know,” I say, growing frustrated. I’m not only frustrated with my stubborn daughter, but with the way my stubborn and apparently all-knowing sister acted - in general and towards April. It was obvious she could read what’s going on between us - how, I don’t know. But I saw it in her eyes that she was aware; maybe by the way we were standing, maybe due to the fact that it’s past 6 and April is still here, or maybe because of another reason. I don’t know how, but she’s onto me. I guarantee that’s why she was acting the way she was, but that doesn’t mean it was warranted. She has no business sticking her nose into my life or judging the way I live it. It pisses me off that she clearly thinks she does. 

“You do know! You’re keeping secrets!” Athena insists. 

“Athena!” I growl. “That’s enough. The topic is done. Go finish practicing, dinner is still cooking.”

“I liked you this morning but not anymore,” she pouts, stomping away with a big frown on her face. 

Once she goes, I turn to April whose skin has become ashen. She wrings her hands, uncomfortable, then chews her lower lip. “I should finish those potatoes,” she murmurs, then starts towards the kitchen with me on her tail. 

“Hey,” I say quietly, once we’re alone. “You okay?” 

With her back towards me, I can see her sigh. “You know, all she wanted was an explanation,” she says.

It takes me only a moment to realize she’s referencing Athena and the hard-headed near-tantrum she just had. “I couldn’t give her one,” I say. “I’m pretty sure Maggie was acting bitchy because she realizes what you and I are doing.” April flips around wearing a concerned expression, potato peeler in one hand. “Don’t worry,” I say. “She’s not going to do anything. What could she do, anyway? She thinks she’s the boss of my life. It’s always been that way and it’s annoying as hell. But you don’t even have to think about her. Yes, she’s my sister and I love her, but she has no say over what we’re doing. I’m sorry about the way she acted, by the way. I wish she wasn’t so critical, because I think you two would get along.” 

“I’m sure I would like her,” she says, turning around to continue shearing a potato. “But the way she behaved confused Athena and you gave her nothing to work with.” 

“I just explained that,” I say, confused. “I couldn’t give her the truth. So, why lie?” 

“You wouldn’t have to lie,” she says, shoulders sagging. “Just communicate. There needs to be an avenue between you two so that when she has a problem, she feels like she can come to you without being shut out.” 

“She can always come to me,” I say quickly. “She knows that.”

“Does she?” April asks, raising her eyebrows as she looks back at me. 

“Of course.” 

She sighs. “I would never try and tell you how to parent. I don’t have kids, I don’t know how it all goes; I’m just telling you what I can see. You tend to shut her down and in doing that, you shut her out. You both are used to it. I understand why you couldn’t come out and tell her that Maggie is pissed because you’re seeing the nanny. I get that. I wouldn’t tell her, either. But you could at least have a two-way conversation.” 

I frown, at a loss. “But I’m the parent,” I say. “Not everything has to be a two-way conversation. If that was the case, we’d argue all day long.”

“You wouldn’t, though,” April says. “Because you’d be talking. Back and forth, you know, instead of you shoving orders into her face and getting angry when she doesn’t comply. When was the last time you actually listened to her?” 

“What do you mean? I always listen to Athena.” 

“I mean really listen,” she says. “Like… what she was telling you out there without saying it.” She nods towards where we had just been. “She and I are getting close. She and Maggie are close, I’m guessing. In her heart of hearts, where she’s probably not even aware she’s feeling like this, she’s scared that if Maggie doesn’t like me, she’s gonna have to choose. And she’s freaking out over how to do that.” 

I open my mouth to argue, but without a word in my head I let my lips close. What April says makes sense, I can’t deny. I don’t know how to acknowledge it without admitting my faults, though, and I’m not ready for that. If I messed up here, where else have I messed up? And have I messed up Athena for good? 

“I would never make her choose,” I say.

“It’s not about you making…” she begins, then trails off as the pot full of skinned potatoes starts to boil. She turns the heat down and stirs them a bit, placing the lid on after. “Never mind.” 

“No, not never mind,” I say, sensing defeat and annoyance in her voice. I don’t want us to be at odds with each other, but I also don’t want to ‘lose’ this argument. If it even counts as an argument at all. 

“Yes, never mind. You obviously don’t want to hear what I have to say.” 

That makes me take pause. If I’m shutting her out because of my own bullheadedness, how often do I do the same with my daughter? Especially after a long day as she puts up a fuss over something I don’t want to hear. How often do I implement the fact that my word is law because I’m her father and I make the rules? Do I put forth an aura of control when there doesn’t need to be one at all? Because I’m a single father, my biggest fear is losing control and having to pick up the pieces by myself. But maybe there are already thousands scattered around from something I had no idea was broken.

“It’s hard to hear,” I admit quietly. “I love her. I don’t want to silence her. I just don’t know how to… I don’t know. She can be so stubborn and she doesn’t let things go.” 

“That’s because she wants you to hear her,” April says. “She just wants answers. She’s getting older and she’s smart, Jackson. She’s not a baby anymore.” 

“I know,” I say. “That scares the shit out of me.” 

“It shouldn’t,” she says. “She’s a beautiful little girl with a beautiful, beautiful mind. Let her show you.” 

I stand there for a second, directionless in the kitchen, until I figure out what I need to do. I’m just not sure how to do it. “Should I go…?” I ask, eyes darting towards the clunky sounds coming from the piano.

“Yeah,” April says. “I would, at least.”

I nod to myself and walk out of the kitchen, leaving April to finish dinner on her own. I approach the piano where Athena is playing with one hand while the other elbow is planted on the keys, cheek squished in her palm. “I don’t wanna talk to you,” she grumbles, playing the same five notes over and over again.

“Thena, I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Honestly, I’m not sure why auntie Maggie was being so mean, but you are right. She was being mean to April and April didn’t deserve that. But I’m sure, if she gets the chance to meet her again, things will be fine. She probably just had a bad day. The boys probably got into something at home and she can’t stop thinking about it. April is way too nice not to like, right?” 

She lifts her eyes from the keys and studies me like she’s seeing me for the first time. She blinks, calculating her answer, then swallows. “Yeah,” she says. “I want them to be best friends.”

“They’d be good friends, I think,” I say, realizing that April was right. Of course she was. I can see it in Athena’s face - the two women closest to her were just at odds with each other. I can’t imagine how that must have felt for a 7-year-old. “Let’s just wait until Maggie gets another chance.” 

“She can have one more,” Athena says, looking back towards the keys again and tapping the same tone repeatedly. “Just one and then I’m never talking to her ever again in my life.” 

“Alright, that might be a little drastic,” I say.

“It’s not,” she retorts. “So, she better be nice next time.” 

With that, she pushes the bench away from the piano and walks past me, scurrying into the kitchen and out of view. I follow in her footsteps and enter just in time to see her press her face into April’s stomach as she throws her arms around her nanny’s waist, and April makes a surprised, breathless sound. “What are you doing, silly?” she says, using one hand to stir the boiling potatoes and the other to run Athena’s hair through her fingers. 

“Mm,” Athena grunts, pressing her face into April’s shirt. 

“Do you want to help me finish up?”

“Mm,” Athena answers, shaking her head no as she stays in place.

“Okay, well, I’m almost done. If you wanna be by me, how about you sit on the counter instead of leeching? I might accidentally burn you.” Reluctantly, Athena untangles her arms and April lifts her onto the counter, Athena’s eyes never leaving her face. “There,” she says.

“Hug,” my daughter says, lower lip pouting out as she reaches for April. 

“One second,” April says, turning off the stovetop as she gets both oven mitts out. She sets them on the counter, then wraps her arms around Athena, squeezing tight. Over April’s shoulder, I see my daughter’s eyes squeezed shut with feeling, hands mapping April’s shoulder blades. “You give the best hugs,” April tells her, voice muffled by her hair. 

I can’t help but feel a little jealous as I watch the two of them. I can’t remember the last time Athena asked for a hug or offered one. I can’t help but wonder where this strong attachment for April is coming from, so out of the blue and unexpected. Well, maybe not unexpected, but she’s never been like this with another person. It’s like April is slowly giving life back to her and she doesn’t want that source to leave, so she’s doing everything she can to protect it. 

“Who’s ready to eat?” April asks. 

“Me!” Athena says, hopping down. She yanks my hand as she walks by and pulls me towards the table, bringing three plates with her as she goes. 

“Oh, honey, I’m not staying,” April says, setting the food down in the middle. She makes eye contact with me for a moment and I feel a little disappointed, though I shouldn’t. “You and your daddy are gonna eat together. I gotta go home now.” 

“No…” Athena whines, flopping in her chair. “I want you to stay. I want you to stay and eat with us.”

“Baby, April can’t,” I say, sticking up for her while trying to have a voice in this. “She just told you. You’ll see her tomorrow, okay?”

“No, not tomorrow,” she argues. “I want more tonight. Please, April, stay and eat with us? Sit next to me?” 

I see something flicker in April’s eyes and wonder what it is as she looks between us. “I mean…” she says, shrugging. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.” 

“Oh, please,” I say. “You won’t be. But honestly, if you need to get out of here, you should go. Don’t let her keep you.” 

“Yes, let me keep you!” Athena says, standing on her chair. She leans forward and wraps her arms around April’s neck to say, “Can I keep you? Please, please, keep you?” 

“Oh, my goodness,” April laughs. “Alright. I’ll stay. Get off me, spider.” 

“Yay! April’s staying!” 

I can’t deny that I feel a little bit of that elation as April sits in between us and dishes herself a portion, a small smile on her face. Athena is over the moon, bouncing in her seat and keeping her gaze on her nanny for the entire duration of dinner. “I got good at the fast notes in C Minor, Prelude,” Athena says, fork in one hand as she eats voraciously, with excitement. “The fast, fast, fast, ones.” Then she switches her eyes to me. “That’s by Bach, Daddy. Spelled with a C-H but said like a K.” 

“Very good,” I say. 

“I did it before you got home,” she says. “So, you didn’t hear. But I promise, it was really fast!” She giggles to herself. “So now, I played two composers.” She holds up two fingers. “Not just one. Remember?” She looks at April. “Remember when I only had one?” 

“I do,” April says, light shining in her eyes as the two of them share something I’m obviously not privy to. 

“So, what are their names?” I ask, attempting to find my place in this conversation. If April is right and I need to get better at conversing with my daughter, I don’t want to wait until it’s too late. I should start now. And what better subject than music - something she’s so newly passionate about?

“That was Bach,” she says. “C-H. His first name is Johann and his middle name is Sebastian, like the crab from Ariel. He was German, but he’s gone like Mommy. Except for maybe he sees me playing his songs and he likes it. Maybe he’s in the sunflower castle, too.” I don’t have time to ask her about that before she continues with, “Then before, I did Debussy who I already told you about.”

“I can’t believe how good you’re getting, Thena,” I say. “How good you already are.” 

“I’m amazing, April says,” she says, chest puffing with pride. 

“You sure are,” I agree. “You really are.” 

Later, while Athena is upstairs in the shower and blasting one of April’s piano playlists on Spotify, I’m with her nanny in the kitchen cleaning up. “I tried to engage her,” I say, breaking the soft silence that found a place between us.

“I noticed,” she says, and I hear the smile in her voice. “It was nice. It was really nice.” 

“Yeah?” I say. “I just don’t wanna seem like I’m trying too hard.” 

She furrows her eyebrows, visibly confused at what I’ve said. “Jackson, there’s no such thing as trying too hard with kids. Especially your own. She’s gonna notice everything you do, and she’s gonna love it.”

“Well, good,” I say. 

“And I’m proud of you,” she says, scrubbing a dish under the soapy water in the sink. “That might be weird to say, since you’re kinda my boss, but…” 

“I’m not your boss right now,” I say, wrapping my arms around her waist from the side. I tuck my face into her neck and she squeals softly, bending it so I can’t tickle her with my lips.

“Stop,” she whispers playfully, smiling wide and uncontrolled. “I’m all sudsy. I’m gonna get you wet!” 

“I don’t care,” I say. 

“You’re in a good mood,” she says, allowing me to spin her around so her arms lift from the water. She winds them around my waist and I feel the wetness soak through my shirt instantly, but it doesn’t bother me.

“You helped me with her,” I say. “You’ve helped me with her so much already. And being around you makes me really happy.” 

She smiles so her eyes sparkle, then frames my face with her soapy hands. I let her, uncaring, and close my eyes as I kiss her with passion and feeling. I want her to know how truly grateful I am for her newfound presence in not only Athena’s life, but mine. It feels like she’s brought something back to this house that it hasn’t had for years, maybe not ever during Athena’s lifetime. It’s breathing again, just like we are. 

“I feel the same,” she says, trailing her fingertips through my kept beard so a scratching sound follows. She kisses me again, one time short and sweet before lingering much longer on the second, body going slack in my arms as I hold her close. I open my mouth against hers and listen to her sigh with pleasure, winding her arms around my neck to play with the hair there as I taste her tongue. She smiles against my lips as I trail my hands lower and grab two firm handfuls of her ass, forcing her hips closer to mine, flush against them. “You’re handsy…” she says, speaking into my mouth.

“Is it okay?” I ask, making sure. 

“It’s great,” she says, back bending as I get her even closer. “I like a man who takes initiative.” 

“Oh, you’re really gonna like me, then.”

“Oh, yeah?” she says, blinking slow and driving me absolutely insane. 

“Mm-hmm.” 

Then, a small voice cuts through the air. “April!” I pull my mouth away from hers and look towards the source; I can clearly picture Athena standing at the top of the stairs in her hooded towel, water dripping. She had told us after dinner that she was going to shower and put herself to bed as usual, and I hadn’t questioned it. So, I don’t know what this is about now. Before either of us can call back, though, she shouts again - this time, with more urgency. “April!”

“What?” April calls back, still wrapped in my arms. 

“I’m done with my shower.” 

April’s forehead wrinkles with the same confusion I’m feeling. “Okay,” she says back. 

“Can you come to the stairs?”

April inhales and places her damp hands on my chest, gently pushing me away so she can go see what Athena wants. I follow her to the edge of the kitchen so my daughter won’t be able to see me, but I can still listen to the interaction. “What is it?” April asks. 

“Can you come tuck me in?” Athena replies. 

“Oh,” April says, surprised. “Sure. Your daddy can come, too.”

“No Daddy,” Athena insists. “Just you. Please, just you, alone?” 

“Oh,” she says again, then looks to me and asks, “Is that… is that okay?”

“Sure,” I say. “Go ahead.” 

“Alright,” April says. “I’m coming.” 

I watch her go up the stairs as I linger at the bottom, then listen for the sound of them both in Athena’s bedroom. I can’t help but feel a little left out, as if I’m on the outside looking in. I promise myself that I won’t intrude on their routine or conversation; I just want to hear them talk to each other. I want to hear Athena’s happiness, hear how content she is. I can’t get enough of it, and neither of us can seem to get enough of April.

The door is almost shut, but not quite - I can still hear them. “There, that’s so nice,” April says, as I imagine she’s tucking the covers up to my daughter’s chin. “You look so cozy. I’m jealous.” 

“April,” Athena whispers. If I weren’t so close, I definitely wouldn’t be able to catch it.

“Yeah?” 

“Will you help me talk to my mommy? Like you said before?” 

“What do you mean?” April prompts. 

“A couple yesterdays ago when you said that you talk to your mommy and she hears everything you say and you tell her everything. And you said I can do the same with my mommy, too. I don’t know how, though. I need help.” 

“Oh,” April says, and I’m thoroughly confused. I have no idea what they’re talking about - this isn’t anything Athena has ever brought up with me. “It’s easy. You don’t even have to talk out loud if you don’t want to.” 

“How will she hear me then?” 

“Angels are magic like that,” April says softly. “The ones that belong to you can hear the thoughts that you want them to.” 

“What if she accidentally hears a mean thought?” she asks. 

“You can always take it back,” April says. “And she knows that you don’t mean it. Know why?” A pause. “Because she knows your heart. And you know what else?” Another pause. “You’re the only person who knows what her heart sounds like from the inside.” 

“How?”

“When you were in her belly, you could hear her heart.” 

“I can’t remember.” 

I hear April’s smile. “Well, none of us can. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.” 

“I hurt my mommy when I came out of her belly,” Athena whispers. “I made her go away.” 

“No...” April says. 

“Maybe she doesn’t send me messages ‘cause she’s mad at me for doing that.” 

“No, no,” April says again, and there’s an inexplicable feeling perched tight inside my chest. I realize my jaw is clenched and my teeth are pressed together, but there’s nothing I can do to release the tension. I had no idea April was teaching Athena about religion and angels. It’s not something we’ve ever had in our home - Myla didn’t want that, she didn’t believe in it. I never had much of an opinion, so I went with hers out of respect. “She could never be mad at you. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I think it was.” 

“I promise you, it wasn’t,” she says. “Now remember, we have to be really quiet if we want to hear her messages or send her one. Did you think of anything you want to say?” 

There’s yet another small pause before Athena says, “Yeah.”

“Do you want me to stay or leave?” 

“Stay.” I wait with bated breath for what comes next, and when I hear my daughter’s small voice ring out again, I want to cry and scream at the same time. “I’m sorry, mommy,” she says, so much melancholiness laced in her tone.

I can’t take it anymore. With my fists bunched, I wait until April has said goodnight and then meet her in the hall as soon as she comes out of the room. “Can I talk to you?” I ask tersely.

She gives me a wary look but still says, “Sure…” 

“Look,” I say, trying to keep my voice low. “I really appreciate everything you’re doing for Athena, and whatever you believe in is fine. Okay? Your heaven is fine for you. But Myla was an atheist. I don’t want you telling Athena that her mother is somewhere she isn’t, okay?”

She cuts me off with a reddened face and pale lips. “Sure, Jackson,” she spits. “I’ll just continue to tell her that her mother is no place at all.” 

“Hey,” I say. “Wait a second. Just because I don’t teach her about some sort of ‘heaven’ doesn’t mean that…” I don’t know how to finish. I didn’t have any sort of plan.

“Doesn’t mean what?” 

“She doesn’t have to apologize,” I say, realizing that’s the point I wanted to get to. “Because she didn’t do anything. She shouldn’t be sorry.”

“You don’t get it,” April says. “Just because she  _ shouldn’t _ be doesn’t mean she isn’t. I’m fully aware that what happened isn’t her fault and I know you are, too. But do you know who isn’t? Athena. You know why? Because she’s 7 years old and you don’t talk to her about it. So, she’s left to assume that Myla died because of her. Because it happened while she was being born. Do you know how much guilt she must harbor over that? Over something she’s held onto her whole life?” She shakes her head and her hair flies. “The apology wasn’t for Myla or for me or for you. It was for Athena.” 

“You don’t know my daughter better than I do,” I say defensively, surprising even myself. “I’ve raised her for seven years. You haven’t even been here two months. I know my kid.” 

“Then why do you feel the need to tell me so?” she counters. 

“Daddy,” Athena says, surprising us both as we flip around to see her. Her eyes are huge and glistening and there are tear stains on her cheeks. “Stop being mean to April!”

“Baby,” I say, feeling helpless as I’ve been put between a rock and a hard place. “Baby, everything’s fine. Go back to bed.” 

“You have to stop being mean to April or else she’s gonna go away like Mommy did!” she sobs. “We have to be nice to her so she’ll stay. I really want her to stay, daddy.”

“Hey,” April says, kneeling down to look Athena in the eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” 

I watch the two of them from afar, feeling like an unwelcome third party. “You were fighting,” she cries. 

“We were just having a disagreement, that’s all,” April says, and Athena falls into her arms. “I promise, I’m not leaving. Remember what I said? People don’t leave because you’re bad.” 

“My other nannies did.” 

April closes her eyes and squeezes my daughter tighter. “I’m not like your other nannies, though, am I?” 

“No,” Athena concedes, then lets April pick her up. 

“Alright,” April says. “Let’s get you to bed. It’s late, and you have to be well-rested for school tomorrow.” She looks to me. “Jackson, do you want to…?” 

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” I say quietly, then make my way down.

It’s not long before I hear footsteps from where I sit on the couch in the front room, then April appears. Something about her is subdued now, her eyes a little duller, emotions hiding behind them instead of showcased as they usually are. She lingers at the foot of the steps before making eye contact with me, and I try to make my expression as open as possible. “I’m sorry,” she says finally. “I shouldn’t have overstepped.”

I chew the inside of my cheek and wonder how to proceed. I want to have a conversation, but that’s not something I’m good at. “Will you come sit?” I ask. She walks over with deflated shoulders and sits next to me, facing me with one knee bent, just like the other night. “I should apologize, too,” I say. “For jumping down your throat. I’m sorry I did that. It’s just…” I take a deep breath and try to figure out how to word what I want to say. “Myla was an atheist, I said that. When we met, I wasn’t sure what I was or what I believed in. Agnostic, maybe… I don’t know. I never had anyone to teach me, but I was curious. She wasn’t interested, though, so in support of our marriage I took the atheism route. She never wanted to teach Athena about God or… or heaven, or anything. I don’t know if that would’ve changed had she known her fate, but…” I trail off then, losing confidence. 

“You feel like telling Athena anything else is going against Myla’s memory,” April fills in. 

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Yeah, that’s what it is.” 

“I can understand that,” she says. “And I would never force any of my beliefs on you or your daughter. I want you to know that.” I nod, taking in what she’s saying. “I’m a Christian, but not the kind people hate. I vote blue, I believe in gun control, I’m pro-choice, and also… um, well, I’m bisexual. I check off all the boxes for what really radical Christians hate.” I take a moment to absorb her statements - I’m not surprised by most of them, but one catches me off guard. I guess it shouldn’t, being that she doesn’t owe me her sexuality, I just hadn’t expected it. “What I’m trying to say is that… I don’t know. I didn’t tell Athena about angels and heaven to push any sort of agenda on her or you. I told her because she’s spent 7 years wondering where her mommy is. And I did, too, when I was her age. I know how it feels to just not know. Even though my family believed in God, I still couldn’t conjure up an image of heaven. So, I made one up for myself and I made stories to go along with it. I shared those stories with your daughter not to try and convert her, but to try and comfort her.” 

I look at the fabric of the couch and try to sift through my thoughts. It’s not as easy as I thought it would be, digesting everything as it’s put out in the open. For years, I haven’t allowed myself to think that heaven might be real. It’s been easier, for me at least, to think of Myla as simply being gone. If she’s gone, there’s nothing left to hold onto. There’s nothing to grieve but an empty hole. What would it mean if she were somewhere, watching over Athena and me? What is she thinking? Is she disappointed, is she unhappy with how I’ve raised the daughter she had such high hopes for?

A long time must pass, because April finally asks, “What are you thinking?” 

I shake my head and blink hard, trying to bring myself back to earth. “I…” I begin. “I don’t know. A lot.” 

“It won’t happen again,” she says. 

“No,” I say. “I’m talking to you as another person who cares about my daughter. Not her nanny that I employ, but someone who I care for and who cares for her.” She nods slowly. “I love everything you do for her. I love the kid she’s turning out to be with you. One I never knew she was, honestly. She’s been unhappy for a long time, but you’re changing that.” I pause for a moment, trying to figure this out. “I think you’re changing me, too. But that change is scary, and I’m not sure how to handle it.” I take a deep breath and let it out. “If she is… somewhere… I don’t know what she would think.” 

April wrings her hands and leans against the side of the couch, watching me for a while without speaking. She lets the silence pass comfortably, without awkwardness or tension, and I appreciate it. “I don’t know what she would think, because I didn’t know her,” she says. “But I hope it’s not selfish to say that I think she would be glad that you’re both happy.” 

The corner of my mouth twitches and I realize a smile is sneaking in. It has been a very, very long time since I’ve been able to truthfully say that I’m happy. I almost don’t know how to accept it; I’m so used to the opposite. Being carefree doesn’t come naturally, it’s as if I have to learn how to let go of a life I didn’t even like. 

“Maybe you’re right,” I say. “I’d like to think you’re right.” 

…

That weekend, my mother stops by impromptu with Maggie, claiming that we need to start planning Athena’s party for her birthday coming up. 

“I can order a cake,” I say, sitting at the table with both of them. Athena is under us, surrounded by feet, listening in. 

“You will not be ordering a cake,” my mother says. “I’ve baked a cake for years and years, for every single one of everyone’s birthdays. What on this earth makes you think you could order one?” 

“Just trying to make things a little easier,” I mumble.

So far, Maggie hasn’t spoken a single word to me. I said hello and she gave me a terse smile, but that was about it. I’m not even sure why she’s here, other than the fact that she might have been forced. “We don’t need easy,” she says. “We need perfection. Now, let’s talk about a guest list. Athena,” she leans to the side and directions her question under the table. “Who are some little friends you’d like to have over to the house for your party?” 

Athena is quiet for a while, presumably thinking. Then, she says, “April.” 

I press my lips together and widen my eyes, clearing my throat. My mom looks confused, Maggie perturbed, and I can only imagine my daughter is smiling. “Anyone else?” Mom asks. 

“April,” Athena says again. 

Mom frowns, turning her palms face-up in a clueless expression. “Who in the world is that?” she asks. 

“The nanny,” Maggie says, finally speaking. “Athena, your nanny shouldn’t be at your party. It’s only for family and friends.” 

“April is my friend. April is my  _ best _ friend.” 

Mom lets out a long sigh. “Athena… this party is for children, sweetie.”

“April is a big kid. She’s fun. She’s all I want. I’m not inviting any of the gross babies from my class.”

Maggie looks to our mom, saying, “This can’t be healthy.” 

“Hey,” I say. “I’m right here. And it’s fine. She and April are close, let her invite her to the goddamn party. It’s her birthday, she should choose.” 

“Yeah,  _ she _ and April are close,” Maggie sneers. 

“What are you- oh, my god,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Listen, my love li-” Before I spiral into a tirade, I cut myself off and realize Athena is still under the table listening intently. “Thena, maybe you want to go show Grandma the new song you learned.”

“No.”

I grit my teeth and stand up, nodding my sister towards the kitchen. Reluctantly, she follows me and I hear my mom start to entertain my daughter so she won’t follow. “What is your fucking problem?” I ask. 

“What, I’m not supposed to have a problem that you’re sleeping with your daughter’s nanny? Who looks about 18, by the way.” 

“She’s not 18,” I say. “She’s 24. Not that it’s any of your business. And we’re not sleeping together.” 

“Yet.”

“And?” I say. “My love life is none of your business. You upset Thena the other day with how rude you were to April. She loves you, Maggie, she doesn’t want you being mean to one of her favorite people. April is important to her. Very important.”

“I’m sure she’s important to you, too,” she says. “Especially at night.” 

“Okay, what’s the issue?” I ask. “You’re way out of line. Why does this matter so much to you?” 

“Maybe because you should be focusing on your daughter instead of her nanny’s ass!” she hisses. “When have you ever put Thena first? First, you put work before her for years. Now, some white girl?” 

“I’m not putting April before Athena,” I say. “God, I wish you could hear yourself. You refuse to look past your own nose. April has changed Athena for the better. And me, too. Without her, I’d still be doing the same shit I was doing before with work. But she’s helping me see that there’s more to taking care of a kid than making money.” 

“As if no one’s ever told you that before,” she says. 

“I really like her, alright?” I say. “And I refuse to stand here and justify it to you. I won’t do that. She’s coming to Athena’s party and that’s the end of it. Thena wants to give you a second chance and she really hopes you two can get along.” I breeze past her, shaking my head, saying, “I really hope that for you, too.”

…

> **SENT, 8:34pm- My mom has Thena tonight. Are you performing?**
> 
> **RECEIVED, 8:36pm- Yessss…. I go on at 10. Just one song tonight. Why?**
> 
> **SENT, 8:37pm- I was hoping I could come see you. See, I’m asking this time :)**
> 
> **RECEIVED, 8:40pm- Ugh. I can’t say no. I wanna see you. Keep it on the DL tho, okay?**
> 
> **SENT, 8:41pm- You got it.**

The Whistler is loud and bustling when I walk in wearing dark jeans and a long-sleeved gray t-shirt. I sit at a table in the back, far away from the stage, and keep my head low after ordering a drink. I listen to a few other performances, none of which stick out, as I sip my rum and Coke slowly. But when April comes on, I set the glass down, sit up straight, and give her my complete attention. 

“I’m April Skye,” she says sweetly, holding the mic with one hand. Tonight, she’s wearing a black dress that falls to mid-thigh - the skirt fans out a bit, but the waist is drawn in with cups underlining the bust. The straps are thin, but not spaghetti-thin. It’s classy look - and beyond sexy. Her hair is half pulled up, what’s left down is pushed behind her pretty shoulders. I can’t stop looking at her. “Tonight, I’m gonna sing Tee Shirt by Birdy,” she says. “This one goes out to the brand new lovers in the audience… if there are any.” 

I can’t help the smile that breaks onto my face, even though I feel stupid for doing it. I feel like a middle schooler with a crush, not a grown man. The fact that that sentiment was meant for me is enough to send me reeling, and I’m surprisingly okay with it. I just didn’t know it was possible for someone to have so much pull over me so fast. 

As the lights change and the live guitar begins to strum, April opens her eyes seemingly right into mine and starts to sing. “ _ In the morning when you wake up, I’d like to believe you are thinking of me, _ ” she sings, and I’m absolutely entranced by her sweet voice. It’s magic in the way it swirls and lilts over the audience, encompassing everyone and hypnotizing us all at the same time. “ _ And when the sun comes through your window, I’d like to believe you’ve been dreaming of me… dreaming, mm-mmm… I know ‘cause I’d spend half this morning thinking about the tee shirt you sleep in. I should know, ‘cause I’d spend all the whole day listening to your message I’m keeping. And never deleting _ .” 

The song comes to an end much too soon, but once it does I stand up and applaud with gusto. I momentarily forget about her request to keep my attendance subtle; there’s no way I could after a performance like that. I cup my hands around my mouth and cheer, which makes her blush and give a little bow before heading off the stage. 

I wait by the bathrooms after, knowing that’s the path she’ll take. I’m glad to know I wasn’t wrong as I see her smile as she walks towards me, buzzing with energy and excitement. “Hey,” she says, breaking into a jog before flying into my arms. “You came.” 

I lift her off the ground and spin once, my arms tight around her back. “Told you I would,” I say. I set her down and look at her face, one hand on her neck with my thumb on her chin. “You were so amazing. You sounded beautiful. I can’t believe how good you are. Well, I can, but… god, you’re just so damn good.” 

She looks to either side quickly, almost like she’s checking for someone, before grabbing my head with both hands and kissing me with all she’s got. I kiss her back equally as rough, hands on her waist, before she backs up and takes us both into the women’s restroom. 

“Mm, April,” I say, speaking against her lips as she kisses me. 

“I love the feeling I get when I know you’re watching me,” she whispers huskily, grabbing the collar of my shirt as she pulls us into a stall. “I can’t explain it. I just love it.” 

I lock the door and press her against the wall, trapping her with one hand beside her head and the other planted on her waist. I tilt my head and pitch my hips forward, feeling my erection grow and press against the apex of her thighs. “I should come and see you more often, then,” I say, moving to kiss her neck. 

“Oh,” she moans, tipping her head to the side. “Please.” 

Before I can fully register what’s happening, she’s grabbing my wrist and directing my hand towards her groin, lifting her skirt so I have full access. “Are you…” I trail off.

“Touch me,” she says, eyes hooded and dark. “I want you so bad. Just touch me. I’ll return the favor if you go quick enough.” 

“Fuck,” I say, slipping a hand under her skirt to find that the underwear she’s wearing are tiny and lacy. “Jesus Christ,” I say, skimming a hand along her smooth belly before repeating the motion and finding my way inside her panties. Her skin is past warm - it’s hot as I trail my fingers over it and through the soft curls. She bucks against my hand, lips parted and eyes desperate, and I kiss her for good measure. “You’re already wet,” I say. 

“‘Cause I’ve been thinking about you,” she says. “And I accidentally made myself super horny.” 

“You have no idea how much that turns me on,” I say, lips moving against her cheek as my nose presses into her temple.

“I couldn’t wait,” she says, panting as I tease her lips apart. “I didn’t wanna wait. I know this is kinda trashy, but-” 

“It’s not trashy,” I say. “It’s fuckin’ sexy.” 

She laughs deviously, throwing both arms around my shoulders as she widens her thighs. “Good,” she says.

Without wasting any more time, I slip my fingers inside her for the first time and relish her vocal reaction. She lets her head fall back as a salacious moan escapes, and I thrust deeper and stronger, rhythm picking up as she tightens her grip on my shoulders. “How’s that feel,” I breathe, turning her head by the chin to kiss her. 

When we pull away, her eyes flutter as she tries to keep them open. “So good,” she breathes, and I lift my hand out from under her skirt to bring my fingers to my mouth, slowly sucking on them while she watches and goes weak in the knees. “Jesus,” she whimpers, trembling as I push them back inside her. “Oh, Jesus.” 

I smile into her neck, pushing her against the wall again so I can I pin her there and keep my hand moving. Her body shakes as she grapples for something to hold onto, and when I find her clit she lets me know with a series of groans and sighs, twitching as I tease the nerves. I rub circles around it with my thumb, sucking on her neck as I do, and just as she’s about to come I hear the sound of the bathroom door coming open. 

I meet her eyes and clap a hand over her mouth with one hand, continuing my ministrations with the other. I flash a satisfied grin when her eyes roll back and her body slackens for a long moment before going rigid again and jerking against my hand. I keep pumping as her muscles flutter and tense around me, trying to keep my fingers where they are, and I don’t stop until the hand dryer quiets and the door opens and closes once more. Only then do I take my hand away from her mouth and kiss her with everything I have, pulling her body as close as possible to my own.

“God,” she pants, collapsing against my chest with her arms draped over my shoulders. “Shit. Fuck.” 

I cup her ass and keep her near, allowing her however long she needs to recuperate. I can feel her hammering heart through her chest and it takes a while to slow down - but when it does, she lifts her head and looks at me with a renewed sense of vigor before sinking onto her knees. 

We switch places and I lean against the wall now, one hand on the back of her head as she makes quick word of my button and zipper. I’m already hard - that was easily taken care of with how sexy she is without even trying - so, she doesn’t bother with teasing me. Instead, she looks up with flashing eyes and wraps her hand around the base, stroking slowly while running the head between her lips and causing me to see stars.

“Mmm…” I moan, hips jolting forward involuntarily. She pushes them back and keeps me in place, pulling away for only a moment to catch her breath before opening that pretty mouth again. With a curved tongue, she goes as far as she can and sucks as she pulls off, which makes my eyes roll as I grab a firmer fistful of her hair. She reaches around and grabs my ass, fingers digging into the muscle, and sucks hard as she does. It’s like she’s on a mission to make me come fast and give up any pretense of trying to impress her - my stamina is nothing compared to how good this feels.

When the muscles in my groin begin to tighten, I can’t help but fuck her mouth. She moves fluidly along with me, twisting her wrist to give me one last push over the edge. And when I come, she doesn’t move. She keeps her pink lips wrapped around my dick and swallows it all, everything, and licks her lips after as she kneels there, eyes still on me. 

“Holy fucking shit,” I say, running my hands through my hair as I try to regain my bearings. I haven’t had an orgasm like that in as long as I can remember. Maybe never. I don’t know. I barely know my name right now.

“Bet you didn’t know I could do that,” she purrs, slinking up my body after tucking my dick back into my boxers. 

“I... no,” I say, chest heaving still. “Fuck, that was… wow.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says, fingers dancing on my chest as she curls around me. “You weren’t so bad yourself.” 

I smirk in her direction, rolling my eyes playfully. “Just wait ‘til I get my mouth on you,” I say.

She flattens her hand and says, “Can’t wait.” Soon after, we exit the stall and wash our hands, stealing glances at each other in the mirror. As we continue to catch the other’s eye, April finally bursts out laughing in the cute way I love and says, “That better not have been our date. The one you were talking about.”

I start laughing, too. “No,” I say. “Oh, no. But if you want, that date could end the same way. Hopefully, in a bed instead of a dirty bathroom stall.”

“Maybe,” she says flirtily. “If you’re lucky.” After our hands are dry, April pushes open the door and leads the way out only to run into another woman upon doing so. “Oh, Steph,” she says. “Sorry.” She takes a step back and there’s a strange, strained moment of silence as the two size each other up. 

The other girl - Steph, apparently - narrows her eyes, looking beyond disgusted, and I want nothing more to get out of there. Before I can, though, Steph opens her mouth to say something. “Nice,” she spits, tossing the words at April before looking at me with malice laden in her eyes. “Fucking a new guy - at work, no less - after calling your ex earlier. Classy, April. Real classy.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**APRIL**

Staring into Steph’s angry face standing just outside the bathroom, my hand tucked into Jackson’s, I can’t say she’s wrong. Not only did I call Izzie once, but twice. 

The second time wasn’t of my own accord, though. This morning, I woke up to a missed call from her from around 3am and couldn’t help but wonder why she would’ve done that. I could’ve ignored it entirely, I could’ve just texted her - I didn’t have to call back. But I did. 

“ZZ, are you okay?” I asked right away. 

She laughed a little. “ZZ,” she said. “I almost forgot that one.” Nicknames were a big thing with us. We had about a million for each other, all with varying backstories. Different ones used in different situations - ZZ was the softest one I had for her. “But yeah, I’m okay. I’m sorry. The call probably woke you up.” 

“No,” I said. “It didn’t, actually. It just freaked me out… people don’t usually call at 3am unless someone’s dying.” 

“No one’s dying, I promise,” she’d said. “I just… I don’t know. Now that it’s daylight and I’ve slept, it just sounds silly.” 

“Well, you have to say it,” I said. “You’re in too deep not to say it.” 

She sighed. “Fine,” she gave in. “I don’t know. It’s not anything serious, really. I was just up late and… and, well, thinking about you. Might as well be honest. I was thinking about when we went to Navy Pier and your sunglasses blew off and skidded into the water. How funny that was, and how great those pictures are.” 

“I literally had to hold you back from jumping in to get them,” I mused.

“ _ I’d catch a grenade for ya… _ ” she sang, her voice small and light. I smiled to myself. “It was such a fun day,” she continued. “I just got to thinking because hearing your voice the other night brought back all sorts of things. Like… a  _ crazy _ amount of memories. And I know you’re involved with someone, so am I, but… I miss talking to you about life.”

“I miss that, too,” I responded. “We used to talk about everything.” 

“Yeah,” she said, then paused for a long time. “Do you think we could be friends?” 

I thought about how fast I fell in love with her and how hard. I thought about how every little move she used to make hypnotized me and I swore I would never love another person like I loved her, never again experience the way she wrapped me around her finger. I thought about lying with her at night, limbs curled together, breathing synchronized. I thought about all the tiny things I used to love about her and how she took over my every waking thought. Then, I thought about what broke us. The fact that we stopped making time for each other. She never came to hear me sing and never understood why I wouldn’t use my nursing degree for what it’s meant for. I always got the feeling that she thought I could do better. We left our relationship with too many unsolved feelings to try and scrape together a friendship, I knew that much. If I let it, my heart would still beat for her. But I don’t want it to. 

“I don’t know,” I’d said. “I… I just don’t know.”

“I know,” she replied. “But I couldn’t not ask.” 

Nothing scandalous happened during that phone call. My chest ached and my heart throbbed over what I’d lost; not because I wanted it back, but because it had been ripped away before I was ready. But I’m more than ready to move on now. Izzie is a huge part of my past, but she is not my future. 

“What the fuck?” I spit, narrowing my eyes at Steph. “How do you know I called Izzie?” 

“Who’s Izzie?” Jackson asks, cutting in.

I don’t bother answering him. Instead, I keep my eyes on my so-called best friend. “You left your phone unlocked with the call log open, genius,” she says. “I didn’t spy on you.”

“That definitely counts as spying.”

“And you calling her definitely counts as emotional cheating.” 

“Why are you doing this?” I sputter. “All of a sudden, you’re out to get me. What did I do to piss you off so much? What did I do that was so wrong?”

She shakes her head. “You haven’t been yourself for weeks. I barely recognize you, fawning over some guy who you won’t tell me about and ignoring my entire existence.” 

“I was not,” I say. “I was not ignoring you. Just because Jackson and I spend a lot of time together in and out of work-”

I cut myself off because I just gave it away. Before this moment, she hadn’t been aware of what role Jackson played before he became my lover. Boyfriend. Whatever we are. And I just put it out in the open that he’s my employer. 

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Steph says, disgusted.

“I don’t have to defend myself to you,” I say, avoiding her eyes. “I knew you’d judge me. I knew it, see? And I was right. Once again, this proves my point as to why I stopped telling you shit. All you want to do is control my life.” 

“Go ahead. Play the victim,” she says. “It’s what you do best.” 

“Fuck you,” I say, wrapping my fingers more firmly around Jackson’s to lead us out of the hall. “Seriously, fuck you.”

“That’s funny, coming from you who’s fucking around everywhere you can.” 

“No, I am not!” I insist. 

“April, come on,” Jackson says under his breath. “We shouldn’t do this here. People are starting to stare.”

I rip my eyes away from Steph to see that his eyes hold a warning glance. He’s right, I can feel people’s attention on us, and that’s not something I want. I want to keep coming back to this place, not make a bad name for myself. Or Steph, no matter how much I can’t stand her right now. “Fine,” I say, whipping my head around.

We walk to his car without any words exchanged. I forgot my jacket inside and didn’t want to embarrass myself by going back to get it, so now I walk with my shoulders hunched and arms crossed. If Jackson had a coat, I’m sure he would give it to me, but he’s only wearing a sweater. And if things weren’t so tense, I have a feeling he’d wrap an arm around me. 

“Can I get a ride home?” I ask as he unlocks the car.

“Of course,” he says. “I assumed.” 

We get in and he turns the heat on, which makes me feel a little better. For the longest time, we just sit there in the quiet car, unmoving, not looking at each other. I stare at my bare knees, covered in goosebumps, and let guilt overcome me. I know I shouldn’t let Steph manipulate my feelings, but it can’t be helped. She did exactly what she wanted to by shaming me - now, I feel like the bad guy. The dirty one. The gross one.

“I didn’t call Izzie because we’re doing anything,” I say. “Or because I  _ want _ to do anything with her.” 

“Okay,” he says softly. 

“I’m serious,” I say, turning towards him. “She called me and I called her back. We used to date, and it’s been kinda hard to let her go. But I am. I am letting her go, and I don’t want her anymore. I want to be with you.” 

He smiles a bit and it reaches his eyes, which is comforting. “Okay,” he says again. 

“I did call her the other day,” I say, realizing that I should be completely honest. “I don’t really know why. Things between us ended on a complicated note, but they definitely ended. And they’re still done. I promise.” 

“I believe you,” he says. 

“Are you sure?” I ask, feeling insecure. He nods, starts the car, and I lean back to try and relax. It doesn’t work, though. Anxiety still courses through my body like a hurricane, wrecking everything in its path. I can’t drop this, not yet. I feel like there are still words between the two of us that have gone unsaid, and I won’t be satisfied until I say them. I fold forward and place my elbows on my knees, resting my forehead in the cradle that my palms make. 

“What is it?” he asks.

“I just wish you hadn’t seen that,” I admit, voice a little muffled. “Me and Steph have been going through a rough time lately. Just… in the past few days. She’s pissed at me.” 

“For calling your ex?” 

“No,” I say. “She thinks I chose you over her that last time you came to see me sing. Because we were making out, I missed her set. That hurt her, so she threw Izzie in my face. Claiming that I’m not over her and that it’s stupid to jump to someone else.” I shake my head. “I am over her, though.” 

“Are you?” he asks, studying me. “Because you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.” 

“I am,” I say, turning to the side so I can see him. He keeps his eyes on the road, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. I graze over the veins and knuckles in his hands, admiring them and their strength. “It isn’t that I’m not over her, but it’s hard to let that relationship go. Not her, but the relationship itself.” His lips tighten as he listens. “She’s the person who solidified the fact that I like girls,” I say quietly, nervously. I don’t talk about this with just anyone. My sexuality is something I’m still not entirely comfortable with or sure of, but Izzie made me feel like I was. Ever since leaving her, that stability has evaded me. But with him, I feel secure again. In a similar but different way. “Before her, I shoved the attraction away. I felt really dirty because of it. I only had boyfriends and convinced myself that my ‘girl crushes’ were just really strong admirations. Um… they weren’t.” I scratch my cheek and look out the window at the city passing by. He isn’t driving fast; we’re not in a hurry to get anywhere. In fact, I’d like it if we could stay in the car all night. It feels like a warm cocoon, tucked away from the world. “She and I fell in love fast. It was reckless, we were really stupid; it wasn’t a mature relationship. It was exciting, though, and I did love her. I don’t regret being with her. But I don’t want to go back. She helped me grow and she’ll always have a spot in my heart.” I look at him again. “But it’s not the same spot you have. You have a brand new spot. It’s not a… a competition, or anything. She was then and you’re now. And maybe I’m still figuring her out - what she taught me, maybe I’m still figuring  _ me _ out. But I want to do that with you next to me.” 

He’s quiet for a while, but it’s not worrying. It’s a lot to sift through, I realize, and he deserves the time to do as much. I face forward again and let my eyes drag on the street lamps along the road, patient as he finds his response. And when he does, I’m ready to listen. “I probably know better than anyone about being finished with a relationship but still trying to figure it out,” he says. “So, I get it. I really do.” 

“Thank you,” I say. 

“I didn’t know you were bi,” he says.

I feel a prickle of defensiveness buzz through my body, all the way to the tips of my fingers. “It’s not like I can just introduce myself with ‘hi, I’m April. I like girls  _ and _ guys,’” I snap. 

“No, not like that,” he says. “Don’t bite my head off. I’m just saying, I’m glad you told me. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to tell me.” 

“Oh,” I say. “Sorry.” 

“And I don’t care,” he says. “Your sexuality is yours. It’s not my business.”

“Well, it might be soon,” I say, sneaking in those words. We catch each other’s eye and his flash as a smirk pulls on my lips. But then, another thought crawls into my mind and stomps its way to the front, demanding to be acknowledged. As we’re stopped at a light, I can’t ignore it. It has to come out; it might as well, since I’m airing everything else. “One more thing,” I say. “Um…. I’m a virgin?” 

“Is that a question?” he replies. 

I laugh a little. “No,” I say. “I am. Um… me and Izzie, we… did stuff. While we were together. So, maybe I don’t count as one? I don’t really know how it works. But I haven’t…” I widen my eyes to put across the point. “You know.”

“If you consider yourself a virgin, you are one,” he says. “If you don’t, you aren’t.” 

“Then I’m half a virgin,” I chuckle. “Not to be crude, but a man has never been…” My eyes go big again. “Um. In me.” 

“Okay,” he says, and I hear him smile as he talks. “Do you want that to change?” 

“I thought I made it pretty clear that I do,” I say, cheeks heating up. “But not tonight. I’m making you wait until you actually take me out.” 

“Ugh, harsh,” he says, shaking his head. We drive for a bit longer, get closer to my apartment, then he drums his thumbs on the steering wheel as he thinks. “I have a question,” he says.

“Go ahead,” I say, expecting he’s going to ask one of the age-old questions people always ask girls who like girls. I prepare myself to be aggravated before he even opens his mouth, only to find that I’m wrong. “Does Steph know? That you’re bi?”

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “Why?” 

He sighs and blinks, eyes still on the road. “Well, from all you’ve told me, it sounds like she might be jealous.” 

“Over what?” I ask again. “That I’m spending so much time with you and not her?” 

“Kind of,” he answers. “But what I mean is... it sounds like she might have feelings for you. She doesn’t like the idea of you being with me or you calling Izzie because… well…”

I screw up my face and narrow my eyes. “Jackson, no,” I say, laughing even though nothing is funny. “I see where you’re coming from, but no. Our friendship isn’t like that. We’re just going through something dumb right now. She’s straight, number one. Number two… no. I guarantee she doesn’t feel that way about me. I would know.” 

“Alright,” he says. 

“Seriously,” I press, turning my head as we’re finally on my street. “If you knew her better, you’d get it. But no. She doesn’t like me like that.” 

“Got it,” he says. “Sorry, I was just judging from what I saw.” 

“No, I get how it could look like that,” I say. “But trust me.”

“Okay,” he says, slowing down. 

“It’s this one, right here,” I say. “905. The yellow building.” He comes to a stop just before the speed bump and pulls to the side of the street just in case other cars come. He shifts into park and puts his eyes on me, smiling as he goes. “What?” I say.

“Thanks for tonight,” he says.

“I should be thanking you for coming to see me,” I say, leaning in.

“I’d come see you every time, if you’d let me,” he says, eyes on my lips.

I smile softly and drape my arms over his shoulders, eyelids drooping as our faces inch closer to each other. Soon, I press my lips to his and his hands find my waist to pull me in, seemingly trying to get me over the center console. I lick his bottom lip and can’t help my grin when he grunts and digs his fingertips into my sides, clearly as turned on as I am. “We can’t… dry hump in this car,” I sigh, still kissing him. 

“Why?” he teases, finding my thigh with one hand and wrapping his fingers around it. 

I giggle and say, “Because people will see!”

“Fuck ‘em,” he murmurs, kissing my jaw while holding the other side of my face with his free hand. 

“You just wanna fuck  _ me _ ,” I say, eyelashes fluttering as he runs his tongue along my neck.

“And?”

“And,” I say, pulling his head up so I can look into his eyes. “I told you. You’re waiting until after our date.” 

“Then let’s go tomorrow night,” he says, face flushed as his brain comes back. “And not because I wanna get you in bed. Well, not just that.” He laughs. “You deserve a nice night, and I’m gonna treat you. To everything.” 

“Everything, huh?” 

“Everything,” he says, thumbing my cheekbones. “Jesus Christ, you’re so beautiful.” 

“Stop,” I say, blushing but doing nothing to push him away. “Where are we going?” 

“I was thinking The Grand Luxe, maybe,” he says. 

“No,” I say, much too quickly. I laugh at myself and amend my statement. “Sorry. I work there. That’s where I play piano.”

“No kidding,” he says.

“What?” 

He makes a little sound, one of surprise. “My dad manages that place. I suggested it because I knew we could get a good table. Do you know Rich… Richard?”

“Rich is my boss,” I say, an inkling of a grin appearing on my lips. “You’re kidding me. He’s your dad? He was at The Whistler a while ago trying to set me up with his son!” I start to laugh. “Little did I know his son is  _ you _ . Oh, my god.” 

“He was trying to set you up with me?” Jackson asks.

“Yes, god,” I say. “I sang the song Vincent by Don McLean, and he said it was your favorite. That you… oh…” It dawns on me. “Athena Violet. Yeah, you did name her after it, didn’t you?”

“I love that song,” he says. “I always have.” 

“You told me that, I think,” I say, squinting as I try to remember. 

“Did I?” 

“I think you might have, the night we got tipsy,” I say with a smile. “But that is so weird. It’s such a small world.”

“Well, at least my father has good taste,” he says, cupping my jaw and giving me another kiss. His lips remind me of honey - soft, sweet, reverent. I want them on me all night long, but I have to wait. I’m forcing us both to wait. 

“I should go,” I say, lingering on his mouth as I trace his jaw with both pointer fingers. “Upstairs… I should get to bed…” 

“I know,” he says, though my hands still haven’t left him and his are still on me as well. “But not quite yet.”

“If I don’t leave now, I never will,” I say. 

“What would be so wrong with that?” he asks, threading his fingers through my hair as he holds my head and looks at me, eyes soft. They trail over my face, pausing on each feature, but I don’t feel put under scrutiny. I feel, above anything, wanted. 

“I gotta go,” I say, running one hand down his chest, down his arm, to squeeze his hand.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. 7 - and not The Grand Luxe. I’ll think of someplace else.” 

“Okay,” I say, opening the passenger’s side door. “I can’t wait. Wear something nice.”

“Of course,” he says.

I get out and stand on the street for a second, only to bend in half, place my hands on the seat, and lean over to him again. He holds my head and gives me a long kiss, one I can’t help but giggle into, before letting me go so I can stand back up. “You make me feel crazy,” I say, hanging on the door as I shake my head. 

I walk around the front of the car and listen as he rolls his window down. “Hey,” he says. “Come here.” I screw up my lips in a smile and walk over, arms folded on the car window as he looks at me from the inside. “Little closer,” he says, jerking his head. I lean in further and he holds my chin to give me the gentlest, sweetest kiss we’ve shared yet. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, heartbeats syncing… I can’t remember my name when we pull away. “Goodnight, gorgeous,” he says, and I walk into my apartment with a thousand butterflies fluttering in my chest. 

When I walk through the front door, it isn’t quiet inside like I expected it to be. Instead, there’s a ruckus coming from Steph’s room and almost every light in the house is turned on. It’s almost 11pm; this was the last thing I expected. So, I walk down the hall to investigate after setting my stuff down, and when I peer into Steph’s room, I find her shoving clothes into a duffel bag with a straight-faced, dead expression. 

“What are you doing?” I ask, hovering in the doorway, confused as hell. 

“Packing,” she answers. 

“Why?” I say. “What for?” She zips up the bag and tosses it over her shoulder, breezing past to walk out of her room and down the hall towards the front door. “Steph!” I call after her, turning around. “What for?” 

“I’m leaving,” she says. 

“What?” I say. “Why? You’re moving out? Steph, what the fuck?” 

“I didn’t say moving out, I said leaving,” she says. “For a few days. I need to be away from here. Be away from you.” 

“Steph!” I say, growing a bit desperate. “Come on. Can we just talk?”

“That’s actually the last thing I want to do,” she says, finding her shoes. 

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry for ignoring you the past couple weeks because of Jackson. Maybe I haven’t been the best friend, is that why you’re mad? You just have to let me work on it.” 

“You’re acting so immature, April, and you don’t even see it,” she says. “You never do. Whenever you start a new relationship, you get so damn selfish. You brought him to The Whistler  _ again _ . After we fought about it.” 

“I’m sorry!” I shrill. “I really like him! I don’t think that’s a crime!” 

“Quit screaming,” she says, frowning. “I just need space, okay? I need to… I just need to not see you for a while.” 

“Steph,” I say, bringing my voice back down to a normal level. “Steph…”

“Stop,” Steph says, hand on the doorknob. “Just… don’t text me, okay? I need a break. I’ll be back… I don’t know when. But I need to go.” 

I watch her leave as I stand in the doorway, aimless. I stare at the door once it closes and my mind clouds over with a thousand things - the heaviest one being how lonely I feel. I want to talk to someone; I want to talk to Steph, but she currently hates me. Jackson clearly doesn’t understand our relationship, though it’s clear he’s trying. Calling Izzie feels duplicitous - I realize I have to fully let her go. I’m serious about Jackson, and running to her would be a betrayal of his trust. I should just go to bed. As Jackson said to me on my first day of work, tomorrow will be kinder. The best I can do is put my faith in that. 

…

I spend most of the next day in the quiet apartment picking an outfit for what’s to come tonight. I laid out what felt like a thousand dresses on my bed and tried them all on in the mirror, deducing what the best fit is for The Capital Grille. At the last minute, after my hair is twisted into a sleek updo and my makeup has been painstakingly applied, I choose a dress by Morello that I’ve never worn before. There’s a simple, short black piece underneath with mesh laid overtop that runs down my arms and just below the skirt, adorned with pretty roses. As I look in the mirror after Jackson texts me he’s on his way, I’m happy with what I see. I think he will be, too.

Instead of waiting in the car, I’m surprised when I walk down the stairs to find Jackson at the front door with stargazer lilies in hand. “Oh, my gosh,” I say, opening the door to greet him. “Jackson…” 

“For you,” he says, extending the bouquet. 

“You didn’t have to, you know,” I say. 

“I’m courting you,” he says. “It’s not that I had to, but that I wanted to.”

“Well,” I say, thoroughly flummoxed as I smell the petals. “Thank you.” 

“You’re very welcome,” he says, holding out his arm for me to take. “You look absolutely stunning, by the way. I love this dress.” 

“Thanks,” I say. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” 

He’s dressed in dark jeans and a crisp, charcoal button-up. He trimmed his facial hair so it’s short and tidy, and his freckles stand out even more now. His eyes sparkle in the low light of the car and I don’t bother to hide my smile. “Thank you,” he says after I set the flowers in the back seat, next to Athena’s booster. “April,” he says once I’m facing forward again. “You can’t look like this and expect me not to kiss you. Come here.” I sigh contentedly as he cups my chin and presses his lips to mine, then listen to him take a deep breath as we part. “You smell good again,” he notes. 

“This time it’s not only hair product, but perfume,” I say, one hand on his chest. “Just to drive you a little bit crazier.”

“Mm,” he murmurs. “It’s working.” 

We listen to music on the way to the restaurant and I sway along with the Top 40 station, thoroughly amusing the man beside me. He takes my hand a few minutes into our ride, but moves his grip to my thigh instead as time passes. To solidify it, I cap my hand over his and let him know without words that I want it to stay. I like the feeling of it there, so strong and sturdy. It makes me feel like I belong to him, and that’s a feeling I’m ready and willing to accept. 

He’s pleased with himself, too; I can tell. “So smooth,” he says, stroking my skin with his thumb. 

I jerk away with a smile on my face. “I’m ticklish,” I say. “Stop.” He grins and keeps his hand still, only squeezing intermittently before we arrive. When we do, he gives the car to the valet and comes to open my door for me, taking my hand once I’m out. “You’re such a gentleman,” I say. “I had no idea.”

“I didn’t have the chance to show you before now,” he says. “I was raised right.” 

“I can see that,” I say, wrapping his fingers tight in mine. I look at him fondly while he calls up our reservation, and lean against his upper arm while the waitress collects the menus. He drops a casual kiss to the top of my head, landing somewhere near my bun, and taps my hand with his thumb when it’s time to sit down. “It’s beautiful here,” I say, looking around and getting comfortable. 

“It is,” he says. “I’ve never been here before, either.” 

I nod towards the piano in the corner of the room. “If I have a bad time, I can just sneak over to the piano and take over,” I say. 

“Hopefully that won’t happen,” he laughs, turning to look at the pianist who seems about ready to fall asleep. “Although, she does look like she could use some help.”

“Speaking of the piano,” I say. “Where is Miss Athena tonight?” 

“With her aunt Maggie,” he says, looking up from the menu. “She was pissed at me for handing her off another night, so we compromised. She let me leave as long as I let them stay at our house.” 

“Oh,” I say. “So, they’re home tonight.” 

“Yeah,” he says, chewing the inside of his lip. “I realize that makes things a little difficult for… us, afterwards. What we have planned.” 

“We can go to mine,” I say. “Steph is gone. I won’t have our first time be in the back of a car.”

He laughs a bit. “Oh, why not?” he jokes, then shakes his head. “No, that sounds great.”

“If I had known, I would’ve cleaned…” I say, imagining the kitchen in its state of disarray. “It’s a little messy.”

“I have a child,” he says. “I know messy.” He pauses for a moment and orders a bottle of wine when the waiter comes, then continues. “But what do you mean, Steph left?” 

I inhale deeply and clear my throat, folding my hands on the table. “Uh, she left,” I say simply, shrugging, trying to make it seem like less of a big deal than it is. “I came home last night and she was packing a bag. I tried to have a conversation, I even apologized, but…” I shrug again. “She left. She said it’ll be for a few days, but I don’t really know what that means.” 

“Damn,” he says. “Damn. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I say, shaking my head. “We fight sometimes, it’s fine.” 

“Have you ever fought like this before?” he asks. 

“No, not really,” I say. “They usually don’t last long. This time, she’s really pissed. Which is why I apologized. But… it didn’t do any good. She didn’t want to hear it.”

“What do you have to apologize for, though?” he prompts. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“I hurt her, though,” I say. “And that doesn’t sit right with me. She’s been by my side through a lot of shit. And I obviously wasn’t there for her when she wanted me to be.” 

“It sounds like she wants you to be perfect,” he says. “That’s not right. Nobody’s perfect.” 

“But I put her second,” I say. “And she always puts me first. I don’t know. I think we’re both wrong to a certain degree. It’ll figure itself out. She said she needs space, so that’s what I’m gonna give her. Space and time.” I lean forward and open my palm, to which he responds by interlacing our fingers together over the tabletop. “But for right now, I’m here with you. My super handsome bo-”

I start the word but cut myself off before I can finish it. We haven’t officially labeled ourselves, and I’m nervous to do so. I don’t want to say it and then have some odd, stricken look come over his face. Luckily, though, he senses my trepidation and fills in the blank, “Boyfriend,” he encourages.

“Boyfriend,” I echo, testing the word and enjoying how it feels in my mouth. “Boyfriend. And that’s all I want to think about.” 

When it’s time, Jackson orders the filet mignon and I choose the roasted chicken, and once I take the first bite I instantly know that this will be the best thing I taste for a while. It’s not that I don’t eat healthy, but I rarely treat myself. I don’t have a huge income, so a lot of my dinners consist of salad kits from Aldi. It’s not a lavish life, but I don’t mind. I might start to mind, though, after tasting how amazing this chicken is.

“Oh, my god,” I say, covering my mouth with a cloth napkin. “So good.”

Jackson beams as he cuts his steak and looks at me with satisfaction. “I thought you’d like it,” he says. “I mean, you can’t really go wrong.” 

“Oh, god, you’re telling me,” I say, dicing up a bit more. “I gotta pace myself, or else I’m gonna embarrass you. The Ohio in me is gonna come out.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Would you like to try mine?” he asks, fork poised after piercing a perfect square.

“Oh, sure,” I say. “Wait. You sure? It’s so good, I don’t wanna steal from you.” 

“I offered,” he says. 

“Then hell yeah,” I say, but before I can take the fork from him, he extends it and offers the bite to me. I open my mouth and he slides the tines past my lips, and when I close them around the utensil, we lock eyes intensely. Something like this should be benign, routine, but it feels anything but. This small moment of sharing food has turned into something nearly erotic, and I’m not sure how to handle it as we sit at the dinner table. 

“What do you think?” he asks. 

“Amazing,” I say after I’m finished chewing. “I want both.”

He laughs. “Feel free to take more,” he says.

“I’m not gonna steal yours,” I say. “Because there’s no way in hell you’re stealing mine.” 

We both grin over that, then continue to eat. I was hungry, so conversation isn’t on the forefront of my mind until he speaks again. “Hey. We’re having Athena’s birthday party at the house next Sunday,” he says. “She’s turning 8. I wondered if you’d like to come.” 

That catches me off guard. Of course, with Jackson here, there’s no way Athena hasn’t been on my mind, too. But something like that is a big step, especially considering I can only assume that their family will be there. What will I go as? The nanny, presumably. There’s no way I would attend as his girlfriend; that would be way too much, way too soon. “You want me there?” I ask, eyebrows pulling together. 

“I do,” he says. “And Thena does, too. She requested you specifically. My mom asked what friends from class she’d like to invite and the only name she would say was yours. She called you her best friend.” 

My eyes widen, heart softening as I hear those words. “She did?” I ask, one hand pressed lightly to my chest. 

“Yeah,” he says. “She did. We tried to get her to invite friends her age, but she refused to budge. In her typical Athena way.”

“I can talk to her about it,” I say.

“You should try,” he says. “It would be fun, having a few kids running around.” 

“She might hate it,” I say. “She doesn’t really like the anyone else on the playground. She’s kinda disgusted by everyone.” 

He laughs a little. “Sounds like her,” he says. “But okay. Enough about the queen - or else we’ll talk about her all night long. I want to hear more about you.” 

“No,” I say, leaning in. “I want to hear more about _ you _ and that singing voice. You didn’t let me ask before, so now I need to hear everything.” I lace my fingers together under my chin and look at him smugly. “Spill.” 

“Spill, huh,” he says, grinning. I nod. “Alright. Well, it’s not a very long story, honestly. I’ve always had good pipes, I was born with them… not much to tell there.” 

“So modest,” I say.

“Uh-huh,” he says, pleased with himself. “I get that a lot. Anyway, I didn’t sing in grade-school or anything, I was more into sports. Basketball, football, soccer, cross, I was really athletic. I wanted to go pro for football - I even got a full ride to Bama. But then, during my senior year, at the Homecoming game of all fuckin’ games, I busted the shit out of my knee. Tore it up, there was no going back. I had surgery, but five different doctors told me I would never play again. So, I didn’t.” 

“Oh, Jesus,” I say, blinking hard. “That must’ve been awful to hear.” 

“It was,” he says, nodding. “And it’s strange to imagine what my life could’ve been. I met Myla here in Chicago because I ended up coming to Northwestern and she was at DePaul. I met her at some house party in Evanston where I knew a guy who knew a guy; shitty party, too. But I met my kid’s mom there. And I mean, it crosses my mind every now and then - what might my life look like right now had I actually gone to Bama?” He shrugs. “Wouldn’t have met Myla. Wouldn’t have Athena.” He meets my eyes headily. “Wouldn’t have you.” 

I smile softly and say, “Life has a weird way of working out.”

“It does,” he says. “And it always seems to use the bad to get to the good. It’s funny that way.” He pauses for a moment, turning it over in his mind. “But anyway, I started a band while I was at Northwestern and it got kinda big. Not huge or anything, but we were known on campus and we played a few local bars. We were called In Debt because…” He laughs. “That’s what we were. Big time. It was really fun, though. People liked us and I liked performing. Put my singing voice to use, at least.” 

“In Debt,” I say, smiling. “That’s funny.”

“We thought we were pretty hilarious,” he says. 

“Did you write your own songs?” I ask. 

“Oh, god, no,” he says. “Cover band. Do you ever write your own?” 

I shrug. “Sometimes,” I say. “I used to, more often than I do now. I haven’t in a long time. I usually do it when I’m having a lot of feelings - whether they be good or bad. So…” I shrug, looking directly into his eyes. “Maybe I’ll start up again.” 

“I hope you do,” he says. 

“And I hope I get to hear you perform someday,” I say. 

“What, get all the guys back together and see if we can knock one out?” he chuckles. “I don’t know about that.” 

“No, just you,” I say. “Just you singing would be enough.” 

“That could be arranged,” he says, eyes sparkling. “As long as you keep your standards pretty damn low.”

…

The rest of dinner passes delightfully slowly. We must spend hours sitting across from each other, talking about everything. I tell him about my childhood in Ohio, my closeness with my dad and what he does and doesn’t know about my life. I don’t dig too far deep into the subject of my mom mostly because I want to keep the mood light, and I think he can tell. He doesn’t press when I don’t offer.

“It’s getting late,” I say, catching the time for the first time since we sat down. 

“Oh,” he says. “Are you tired?” 

“...No,” I say, eyeing him. “I just… I don’t know what time Maggie expects you back, and…” I clear my throat, hoping the rest is insinuated. 

“Right,” he says. “Well, let’s get going then. That way, we have plenty of time.” 

“That’s what I was thinking,” I say, and he helps me into my coat after paying the bill. We leave the posh restaurant hand-in-hand, subtle grins on our lips, and I give him directions to my place once we’re in the car. “I have to say it again. I’m sorry if it’s messy,” I say, trying to picture the state of my apartment. The kitchen probably isn’t great, but I always keep my room clean. I’m not too worried about it. Mostly, I’m anxious to have him in my space, among my things, having officially made his way into my life. The two boyfriends I had before Izzie - Matthew and Peter - never made it to my apartment, let alone my bedroom. Izzie was the only one to ever pop this bubble, but I feel ready to let Jackson into it. It hasn’t been all that long, but something about him makes me feel as if we’ve known each other forever. “Sorry if it’s cold,” I say, unlocking the door. “The radiators aren’t great. I have a space heater if you’re chilly. I can turn it on in my room. Are you cold? Do you want me to take your coat, or… or are you chilly? You can set your shoes right there by the door, by the way.”

“Hey,” he says, one calming hand on the small of my back. “Relax. It’s just me.”

I let out a short, powerful gust of air. “I know,” I say. “Sorry. I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.” 

“I noticed.” 

“Are you cold, though?” I ask.

“I’m fine,” he assures me, shedding his coat. I take it from him and drape it over the couch, not bothering with the hall closet because I’m still caught up in the fact that he’s here. “You have a really nice place. I like it.” 

“It’s not much compared to your house,” I say. 

“It’s more than enough,” he insists. “It’s beautiful. I love the hardwood; it has a story. Also, it smells like you.”

“Smells like me?” I repeat. He nods. “What do I smell like?” I ask.

“I can’t describe it,” he says. “But I like it.” 

“Well, good,” I say, chest feeling light. “Um… do you want to see my room?” 

“We don’t have to rush,” he says. “How about a tour? Some wine, if you have some?”

I shrug, saying, “We only have beer.” 

“Beer is great.”

I show him around the house, each of us holding a cold bottle in one hand. Mine is dripping condensation, so I wipe my hand on my jeans as I show him the kitchen, dining room, bathroom, living room, then finally, my room. “I chose the purple a couple winters ago,” I say. “When I moved in, it was this awful beige.” 

“It’s nice,” he says, setting his beer down on my dresser, atop a paper towel he’d been holding. 

I move to sit on the bed after setting my own down and sandwich my hands between my knees. “Thanks,” I say. 

He takes a few steps forward and sits next to me, looking into my face as he says, “You have a nice place. I really like it. It’s homey.”

“Thanks,” I say again. 

He laughs to himself, lowering his chin to shake his head. “I feel like we’re in high school,” he says. “All this talking.” 

“I know,” I say, emphasizing the words. “Can we just make out? You brought condoms, right?” 

“Don’t worry,” he says, then takes a few out of his back pocket to set them on the nightstand. “I thought ahead.”

“Thank god,” I say, then practically jump him. I’ve been thinking about this part of the night since it started, and I hope he can tell from the fervor behind my actions. I hold his cheeks with both hands and kiss him hard, squeezing my eyes shut tightly as he grabs my waist and gracefully lowers me to lie flat on the bed. 

After the initial rush, I decide to slow down and take my time with him. He’s worth it - both in mind and body - and I want to remember this. So, after we’ve been kissing for a while and I need to come up for air, with throbbing lips I go slack under him and just stroke his skin with my fingertips, tracing nonsense shapes over every inch that I can reach. I start on his face and drink in the way he’s looking at me, and when he notices what I’m doing, he sits back on his knees to take his shirt off. Afterwards, he hovers over me again and I drag my nails down his chest, over his nipples, across his pecs and down the firm muscles in his arms.

“I love your body,” I whisper, moving my hands to his face again where I drag my thumbs over his eyebrows. I smile dreamily, tracing the apples of his cheeks before moving lower to skim his lips. “I love your face,” I say. 

“Then sit on it,” he says bluntly, and my eyes widen with initial shock. I’ve never been spoken to like that before - that’s not to say I don’t like it, but it catches me off guard. “Wait, shit,” he says. “Was that too forward?” 

“No,” I breathe, swallowing hard. “I just… I didn’t expect it.”

“Well, do you want to?” he asks, watching for my reaction. 

I part my lips, take a small breath that ends in a smile, and say, “Yes.” 

He switches our position so he’s the one lying on his back and I’m perched on his stomach. For a moment I just stare at him, hands braced on his warm chest, and wonder where to go from here. I think he can sense my caution because he overlaps my hands with his and says, “Are you uncomfortable?” 

“No,” I answer quickly. “I’m not. I’m just…” I laugh at myself. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m gonna look like an idiot.” 

“You won’t, I promise,” he says, picking up my hand to bring it to his face. He kisses the palm and flattens it on his cheek, concentrating on my eyes. “But if you feel strange, don’t just say yes because you think I want you to.” 

“No, I want it,” I say. I lick my lips. “I’m, uh… I’ve never sat on…” I clear my throat. “Never done this before. But I know what oral feels like.” I bite my cheek and murmur, “Izzie.” 

“Right,” he says, trailing his fingernails up my arms. “Well, if there’s one thing I can guarantee - no matter how good she was, I’m better.” 

“Shit,” I say, leaning back on his thighs while keeping my eyes on him. “Yes, god, I want that. I want it really bad.”

He smiles devilishly. “Then get naked, baby,” he says. “I love this dress, but I’ve had enough of it for tonight.”

Stretching my rib cage, I pull the dress over my head and toss it to the floor, sitting on top of him in only a black bra and underwear. He drinks me in with his eyes, moving his hands to my stomach then lower to wrap around my hips, urging me closer with tightening fingers. “Jackson,” I say, stopping his movements. “What do I do? When I’m…”

“Whatever you want,” he says. “Move your hips, touch yourself, fuck my face. I want you to feel good and I’m gonna help you with that by giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever had.” 

“But what if I suffocate you?” I ask, hands moving around to unclasp my bra.

“You won’t,” he says. “And even if you did, I can’t think of a better way to go.” 

“Stop,” I say, smacking his chest playfully. “Seriously.” 

“I’ll be fine, I assure you,” he says. “Now, will you come here?” 

I stand up for a second to take my underwear off and surprisingly, I don’t feel self-conscious being naked not only in front of him, but on top of him. He gets settled and winds his arms around my waist as I get closer, and when I’m directly over his face, he smiles up from between my thighs and I take a deep breath as I think over what I’m about to do. “I can’t,” I say, hands on my stomach. His have found my ass, and they stay there as I back up and lower my weight onto his torso. “I can’t,” I say. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he says, rising onto his elbows. “Do you wanna stop?” 

“No, no, god,” I say. “Just that… that’s a little too much for me right away.” 

“I understand,” he says.

I lift one knee so I can dismount him and then press my hands against the bed so I’m on all fours. Then, I lower to my elbows and put my ass in the air, widening my knees so all my weight relaxes forward. “What about… um, like this?” I ask. “I’ve never done it with someone else like this, but I’ve seen it in… um…” 

“Porn,” he says. “You can say it.”

“Yeah,” I say, letting my forehead fall. “I’ve always kinda wanted to try it, but it felt too dirty. With you, though…” 

“Baby, dirty is my middle name,” he says, shucking off his pants and finding a place behind me. 

Before I have time to prepare myself or fully register what’s going on, his mouth is on my core from behind after he’s spread my thighs accordingly. He plants one hand on either ass cheek and opens his mouth wide, causing my jaw to drop and my chest to fall to hit the comforter. “God damn,” I moan, entire body tingling. I twist the blankets in my fist as he pushes his tongue in deep and uses one hand to rub my lips, then I feel his hot breath paint my skin as he exhales. 

I can’t help the way my hips move as he fucks me with his tongue, fingers so tight around my hips that I’m sure they’ll leave marks. “Yes, baby,” he says, lips moving against my wet heat. “Show me how bad you want it.” 

“Uh, fuck,” I moan, bending my neck so the top of my head touches the mattress. “Jackson, fuck.” He drops sloppy kisses over my ass cheeks, biting the supple skin while giving me a small reprieve. I do the best I can to catch my breath, but I lose it again once he winds his arms around my waist and flips me onto my back. I let my arms splay over my head as he finds a home between my thighs, yanking them apart to bury his face in my sex again. He’s obviously not afraid to get messy, and I find that turns me on more than anything else. He’s not careful about his movements until he finds my clit, then he slows down and pays it the attention it’s been dying for, closing his eyes while quickly sucking on it with his lips and tongue. “Oh, my god!” I shriek, dropping my feet to his back and bucking against his mouth. “Shit. I’m gonna… I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come…” 

“Come then, baby,” he says, twirling circles around my clit with this thumb while keeping his mouth wide open between my legs. “I can’t wait to see what you look like when it happens.” 

After he speaks, he lowers his head and absolutely devours me - digging his nails into my outer thighs and sucking on my clit harder, shaking his head back and forth until my orgasm finally comes with a rattled, broken scream. As it pulses through me, I clench his head between my legs and hold there for a long moment as my body jolts and twitches, one hand gripping his hair tight. After it’s over and only the aftershocks are left, I open my legs and he kisses his way higher, nibbling my stomach before moving to my breasts and licking my nipples, pulling them into his mouth after they’re hard and wet. “You taste so good,” he says, popping away from my breast with a satisfied look on his face. “Inside and out.”

I lose my breath as I turn to look at him. “What do I taste like?” I ask.

He pulls himself up, kisses me square on the mouth, pulling away to say, “The best fruit on earth.”

“And what’s that?” I ask, framing his face with both hands. 

“Mmm…” he murmurs, moving to kiss my cheek and jaw. “Kiwi.” 

Later, once the condom is on and we’re both more than worked up, I’m ready for it to happen. I’m not worried about pain - I’ve used toys on myself before - what I’m thinking about is how after this, we’ll have an impermeable link. Not that we don’t already, but it will be solidified after this. Because not only does sex do that to people; he’ll be the first man I’ve been with, the first one who’s given me all that he has. 

“You ready?” he asks, face tucked in my neck as he kisses me there. I’m sure my skin must be covered in hickeys, but I love the idea of it. I’m already excited to check the bathroom mirror to see how he’s branded me.

“Yeah,” I say, arms around his neck. He gives me a long, slow kiss that I melt into, closing my eyes as I allow him to fill me. In the next moment, our bodies become one and he’s inside me; by the way his jaw goes slack and his eyes close, it’s clear it feels just as great for him as it does for me.

“Jesus Christ,” he moans, and just then I remember that, for him, it’s been 7 years. He must be on another planet right now, completely lost in pheromones and the way his body feels. “Jesus fucking Christ, you are amazing.” 

“You are, too,” I say, keeping him close. 

“Shit,” he grunts as he starts to move. “You good? You still good?” 

“I’m great,” I say, widening my thighs to give him more room. After I do that, he reaches low and finds a grip under one of my knees, bringing it towards my face so he can push inside me at a new angle. “Fuck,” I groan, kissing him desperate and messy. 

“Goddamn,” he hisses, holding my hips firmly. “Flip around, baby. Flip. Hands and knees.”

Without questioning, I comply. I get on my hands and knees and go molten as he buries himself in me again, feeling his hands press flat against my shoulder blades as his body overcomes my own. “Oh, fuck,” I moan, all pitchy, as his pelvis slaps against my ass. “Oh, fuck!” 

“You like that, baby?” he grunts. “You like that?”

“Yes!” I cry, turning my face to the side as my eyes roll back. “Ugh, oh god, yes.” 

“I knew you would,” he says, then surprisingly pulls out and spread my ass cheeks, eating me out much in the same way he’d done in the beginning. My body shudders from the contact, my ass lifts higher, and he strokes my asshole with his thumb.

“Shit!” I shriek, and my breath doesn’t come so easy now. “Jesus!”

He licks me slow and steady until I’m a sobbing, panting mess. Then, he slips back inside easily since I’m beyond soaked, and fucks me until I can’t remember my name. When I come, I shove my face into the comforter and cry out loudly, as loud as I can, and assume he comes too because in the back of my hazy mind, I can hear his vocal reactions. If I weren’t so distracted with my own, I would’ve been able to notice how fucking hot his orgasm is. 

We don’t talk for a while after we’re both finished; I don’t think either of us are capable. Instead, he collapses on top of me, still inside me, and uses my right breast as a pillow. With a hand overlapping the left one, I’m comfortable as I wrap my arms around him and kiss his forehead. “I loved that,” I say when my thoughts come a little clearer. “God, I fucking loved that.” 

“I can’t put into words how amazing it was right now, but if you give me some time…” He yawns and draws lazy circles around the nipple under his cheek, kissing it after it’s hard. 

“You can sleep for a little while,” I say, stroking his hair. “I’m not tired. I’ll wake you up to go home.” 

“Mmm, no,” he says. “I’m not gonna fall asleep after sex, that’s so fuckin’...” He laughs. “No.” He lifts up and pulls my face to his, giving me a long, meaningful kiss that I’ll hold onto. “Kiwi,” he says. “Still kiwi.” 

I drag my thumb through his facial hair and listen to the rough sound it makes, then rub my nose against his. “I really want you to spend the night with me,” I murmur, all tangled up in his body still. 

“I wish I could,” he says, winding an arm around my waist to stroke my side with his thumb. “God, I wish I could.” 

I don’t know how it happens like it does, but the next few moments pass as a blur. I don’t hear the front door come open because I’m stupidly lost in Jackson’s eyes, still reeling from the way his body felt as it moved inside mine. I don’t register the words Steph says as she walks down the hall, expecting me to hear, because he’s whispering sweet, sexy nothings to me that I don’t want to miss. But, she says this: 

“April? April, I’m sorry. I acted stupid, I was being irrational and dumb and I know you’re awake right now, so please don’t ignore me. I’ve been bottling up a lot of feelings lately, and I know that’s not fair, so I wanna tell you. ‘Cause we’re best friends and I got pissed at you for not telling me shit, when it was really me who I was mad at. Well, and a little bit of you, too, because… well, you’ll get it after I tell you. I don’t want it to ruin things between us, okay? I just want to be honest… I… I think I might like you. Like, I might have the tiniest crush ever. I don’t wanna do anything about it, I know you’re not interested and I would never ask you to reciprocate. I don’t really know where it came from, but it’s there… and… it’s been upsetting me lately and I felt like I couldn’t talk to you about it, because, well…  _ obviously _ . I want to put it out in the open now, though. I want to move past it. Together. If you’re not totally weirded out.” 

All of that has only just begun to filter through my consciousness when the doorknob turns and she appears, having come in my room like she always does, having not known that there’s a man in my bed. 

Standing in shock, the blood drains from her face and she blanches, stunned and still. “Oh,” she says, taking a stutter-step back. 

“Steph!” I say, pulling the sheet up to cover my exposed chest that Jackson had been kissing when she walked in. “Oh, my god!” 

“Oh,” she says, still walking backwards with her eyes cemented on us. “I gotta go.” 


	9. Chapter 9

**APRIL**

As Steph turns to leave, I grab the sheet in a desperate move and wrap it around my naked body in an attempt to follow her. I stumble out of my room and into the hall, trying to stay as decent as I can while ignoring the protests from Jackson claiming I’ve left him with nothing to cover up with. 

“Steph!” I call, breathless. I clutch the sheet at my chest and listen to the slap of my bare feet against the hardwood that Jackson had complimented not long ago. “Steph, please. Wait up.” 

She stops at the door, one arm outstretched to keep me at a distance. “No,” she says. “I don’t wanna talk. I don’t. I’m sorry.” 

“I didn’t know!” I say, insistent.

When she turns, her cheeks are shiny with tears even as she tries to wipe them away. “I know,” she says. “I didn’t want you to. I don’t  _ want  _ to feel like this.” 

“Can you just stay?” I ask. “We can work it out, it’ll be-” 

“I don’t want to right now,” she says. “I don’t wanna have these feelings and I don’t wanna stay. I’m having a really hard time being around you right now. It’s too confusing.” 

“I’m sorry,” I whimper, not knowing what else to say. “Steph, I’m…” 

“Please, stop apologizing,” she says, opening the door. “It’s not your problem.” 

“April?” Jackson calls, his voice faraway and distant. “Is everything okay?” 

“He’s calling you,” Steph says, nodding towards the sound. 

“You’re my best friend,” I say. “If you need me, I’m here. You know that. This isn’t a big-”

“Yeah, it kind of is a big deal,” she says. “That’s the problem, and that’s why I need to go. So, can you please just let me? Let me go?”

“I don’t want it to be forever,” I say, pulling the sheet tighter.

She sighs. “It won’t be. Don’t be dramatic. I just need to figure this out on my own.” 

“Okay,” I say weakly. 

“Do you want me to leave?” Jackson calls again. 

“Go,” Steph says, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Just go.” 

I watch the door close as stand there for a while, in disbelief over what transpired. When Jackson suggested earlier that she might have a crush on me, it seemed like a such a silly thing. Steph and I are best friends; we tell each other everything. Is this the reason she always got standoffish whenever I was involved with someone? Was I making her feel unseen the entire time? She never told me she liked girls. Maybe she didn’t know. I have no idea what to make of this. 

“April,” Jackson says, calling my name as I’m still standing in the same place. “Is everything alright? Should I go?” 

I frown and run my tongue over my top teeth, trying to make sense of my current situation. I just had sex with a man who is essentially my boss, which I’ve never done before. How are we supposed to move forward from here? I’m his daughter’s caretaker. His wife is dead. It’s not like this could ever morph into some sort of happy family situation. Maybe I ruined everything. And maybe, the person who will end up suffering isn’t Jackson, isn’t me, but Athena. I shake my head and wonder how stupid one person - me - could possibly be. I let my heart take over like always and allowed him to sweep me off my feet. I should’ve been smarter about this. 

I walk back into my bedroom thinking I should tell him to leave, that I need time to think about my life, but one look at his face and all of that goes out the window. He’s lying there without the sheet, one of my quilts strewn over his middle, watching the door expectantly. As soon as I appear, relief washes over his features and my heart softens because of it. Damn him. 

“Hey,” he says, sitting up while making sure the blanket stays in place. “What’s going on?” 

I sit down and let the sheet crumple, feeling it stay curled around my stomach and hips, but fall away from my chest. His eyes dart there for only a brief second, but I notice. I don’t do anything to cover up, though. “She left again,” I say, blinking hard while staring at one of his knees. “Did you hear what she said? Before the door came open?”  

He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I didn’t hear her at all. If I had… I might have tried to cover up a little bit. I’m pretty sure she saw my dick.” 

“That’s the least of our problems,” I murmur, flopping over to lie flat, arms strewn above my head. “She finally admitted what’s been bothering her. You were right. She does have a crush on me.” 

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Shit.” 

“So, now I don’t know what to do,” I say, closing my eyes. 

“Do you…” he begins, trying to find his way. 

I already know what he’s going to say, though, so I don’t let him finish. “I love her so much,” I say. “As a best friend. I didn’t even know she liked girls. But I was thinking… maybe she never knew, either. I don’t know. I just feel bad about everything. She’s been having all these confusing feelings and I haven’t done anything to help.” 

“You didn’t know, though,” he says. “How were you expected to help if she kept it from you?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “We’re usually pretty good at reading each other’s minds.”

He sighs. “Well, I’ve found that if someone doesn’t want you to know something, they make sure you don’t find out. I’m sure this was hard for her to come to terms on her own, let alone with you.”

My eyes grow hot, threatening tears. “She probably thinks our friendship is over,” I say. 

“Is it?”

“No, Jackson,” I say sternly, perturbed. “I would never stop being her friend over… no.”

“I didn’t mean on your part,” he clarifies. “I meant hers. What if being your friend is too difficult now?” 

I hadn’t thought of it like that, from her point of view. Maybe Steph is right. Maybe, over everything, I am selfish. “Well, I guess I don’t know,” I say. “She didn’t wanna talk. She said she didn’t even wanna be around me.” 

We’re quiet for a long time, and for that I’m glad. I don’t need counsel at the moment; what I want is to fix this. I feel off-kilter being at odds with Steph, like part of my life has been knocked off the shelf. I can only hope that, in time, she’ll want to pick it up and replace it. “I’m sorry,” Jackson says eventually, moving closer to throw an arm over my middle. I brace my hands on his wrist and drag my nails over his skin absentmindedly, feeling his heartbeat through his chest because he’s so close. “I really am.” 

“I know,” I say, picking up one arm to envelop his shoulders with it. He rests his head on my stomach, and with my free hand I twine his curls through my fingers and watch them spring back once I let go. Even though I shouldn’t be, I’m enjoying the heavy weight of his big head on me, resting, dependent. It’s a good, comforting feeling. 

“Maybe a shower would make you feel better,” he says. “Wash it away.” 

“Yeah,” I agree, and he picks his head up. He reaches for his shirt that found a place on the floor and starts to put it on until I stop him. “Wait,” I say. “Are you gonna come in with me?” 

“Oh, do you want me to?” 

“Yeah,” I say, standing up stark naked. “If you want.”

My body tingles as his eyes drink it in, and he stands only seconds later to follow me. I turn on music that I would normally dance to in the shower, but right now I’m not feeling that energy. I stand under the jet and allow him some of the water, too, but I don’t talk. There’s too much going on in my head to put into words. “You okay?” he asks a few moments later, sudsing up my hair with strong fingers.

I look up at him and he thumbs shampoo off my forehead to prevent it from getting in my eyes. “Yeah,” I say halfheartedly. 

“Still thinking about it?” he says.

“Steph?”

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” I admit, eyes losing focus. “That and… other stuff. I don’t know. There’s a lot going on in there right now.”

“Wanna let it out?” he says, then tips my head back. “Rinse.” 

“No, not really,” I say, eyes closed as the water runs over my hair.

He’s quiet for a moment as I stay under the jet, and when I come back out I put body wash on the loofah and run it over his chest. It’s strange, washing someone else. I don’t think I’ve ever done it before. “Are you thinking about what we did?” he asks persistently.

I sigh softly. “I don’t know,” I say. 

“Are you upset about your virginity?” he asks, a bit paranoid now. “Do you regret it?” 

I close my eyes and try not to get frustrated. I know I’m slowly building a wall, but it’s just for tonight. It’s not permanent; it’s just to protect my heart from everything it’s going through. He won’t let me stack the bricks, though, and it’s irritating. The thing is, I don’t feel any different. I liked having sex with him, but tonight didn’t transform me into a sexual being. He wasn’t the first person to make me come, just the first person with a penis. I don’t know what constitutes virginity, though. I don’t know what it means to ‘lose it’ with a girl, as a bisexual. I don’t know what that means at all - I’ve never had anyone tell me how to navigate these waters. All I know is that I don’t feel any different, I don’t feel changed; I’m still the same April I was before he had me in bed. I can’t figure out if it’s wrong or not, to feel like this. Judging by the traditional constructs, I did just lose my virginity. Why doesn’t it feel like I did? 

“I just don’t have any answers right now,” I say, watching the water run over his beautiful skin. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I just want to make sure you’re alright.” 

“I’m confused,” I say honestly. “But I’ll be fine.” 

When it’s time for him to go, he lingers at the door while I want nothing more than to be alone. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy our time together - I very much did - but I’m ready to be by myself now, in the state I’ve grown most used to. I need to sit with my thoughts and try to figure out what to make of them, and I can’t do that with him here. I wouldn’t necessarily call him part of the problem, but being distracted by him will impede me from finding a solution. 

“I had a really nice night,” I say, and it’s the truth. “Thank you for everything.”

There’s something wary in his eyes, like he’s trying to read my mind and what I’m not saying. He won’t find anything, though, because I’m not even sure of what’s inside my head. So, there’s no way he could decipher it. “I did, too,” he responds. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I’ll be fine,” I say for the second time. “It’s not you.” 

“Please, don’t drop that line,” he says. “I feel like you’re pulling away from me. Why?” 

I sigh and close my eyes, wanting to be done with this. “Because my best friend just dropped a huge bomb on me and I slept with my boss, Jackson,” I say, fed-up. “I need time to process it. And I need to do that by myself, I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you, I really liked tonight, but now I need to think everything over. I just need to be alone, okay?” 

“Oh,” he says, features growing vulnerable and wounded.

“Yeah,” I say. “So, I’ll text you, okay?” 

I can imagine my behavior must be confusing for him, too. Earlier tonight, I was calling him my boyfriend, but just now I dropped the ‘boss’ moniker. I know I’m not making sense. I’m not making sense to myself, either, but I’m done apologizing for it. “Sure,” he says. 

“Jackson,” I say, hating myself for allowing us to part on such strained terms. “Come here.” 

He takes a few steps forward and I hold his face gently, bringing his head down so I can kiss him. He takes my waist and draws me in, lingering for a long moment until the kiss breaks and we pull away. “Bye, Kiwi,” he says, licking his lips. “If you need anything, just call.” 

After I wave and lock the door behind him, I walk back into my bedroom in a fog. I strip the bed and throw everything into the wash, then sit on the bare mattress with no clear indication of what to do next. If part of my problem didn’t involve Steph, she would be the first person I sought out to talk about this. I go through my list of people - Jackson, my dad, Owen, the few casual friends I have from work, and nix them all. The only person I want to talk to about this is Izzie, no matter how wrong that might be. 

Before I can overthink and change my mind, I dial the number I have memorized before realizing it’s close to 1am. It’s too late now, though; the phone is ringing. “Hello?” she answers, and I instantly feel better just hearing her voice. “April, what’s going on?” 

“Hey,” I say. “I know it’s late, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how… I just really need to talk to you.” 

“Okay…” she says, sounding confused. “About what?”

I let out a long, loud breath. “About…” I think about the two big things on my mind - Steph and Jackson. And how wrong it feels to tell her everything over the phone in the middle of the night. “A lot. It’s a lot.”

“Are you okay?” 

“Physically, I’m fine. But emotionally, I’m kind of a wreck. I don’t think I’ll be able to tell you everything over the phone. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I can just deal with it myself.”

“Don’t apologize,” she says. “If you need me, I’m here. We always said that.”

“Yeah.” 

“So, would you maybe want to meet up and talk?” she asks cautiously.

My stomach clenches with the suggestion. I haven’t seen Izzie in almost six months, since the day we made our breakup final. She had been taking the last of her things home in a box from this apartment, and I watched her pack from the bed I’m sitting on right now. I was crying, she was stone-faced and trying to hold it in. It’s not a day I remember fondly. But the prospect of seeing her again on better terms is one I can’t, and won’t, pass up. “Sure,” I say. 

“But April…” she says. “Just the other day you said you weren’t sure if we could be friends. Are you sure you want to do this?” 

I let my head fall forward to rest in one hand, confused as ever. I want Izzie’s advice because her opinion matters to me, and I want to see her because her presence is comforting. I don’t want a rekindling to come from this. That’s not my goal. “ZZ, I just need you,” I say. “That’s all.” 

“Okay,” she says solemnly, understandingly. “Then let’s meet up tomorrow.” 

…

We decide to meet on neutral ground, at Starbucks in the neighborhood. I get there early because my stomach is jumping and watch the door intently, but try to seem like I’m not once she walks in. 

She’s wearing jeans and a white cable knit sweater, hair in a messy bun. No makeup except for light pink lipstick, and when she spots me, a big smile breaks onto her face. She’s always had the biggest smile - it lights up her entire face. “Hey,” she says, approaching me for a hug that I readily walk into. I wrap my arms around her and close my eyes, letting go before I accidentally hold for a second too long. “You okay?” she asks, cupping my elbows. 

“Yeah,” I say, sitting back down on the brown couch I’d been on. She sits next to me on the middle cushion, one arm resting along the back so she can face me.

“If you really were, though, would I be here?” she asks lightly. 

I laugh weakly and say, “I guess you’re right.” 

“Tell me what’s up.”

“Well,” I say, moving to sit in the same way she is with my head leaning on my shoulder. “Steph and I have been getting into fights lately, I think I might have told you that. And last night… well, I found out why. She told me that she has a crush on me.” 

“Oh, shit.” 

“I know,” I say, chewing my lip. “And she’s really upset about it. I think she thinks we can’t be friends anymore, but I don’t know if that’s the case. I mean, I don’t feel weird about it. I’m pretty sure it’s something we can get past.” 

“Did you get a chance to talk it out with her?” Izzie asks. 

“No,” I say. “She left last night.” 

“So, she just told you and... left?” she says, puzzled. “That seems weird.”

“Well, she found me in sort of a compromising position,” I say, clearing my throat. “She just threw open my door as I was in bed with Jackson, the new guy I’ve... we were having sex. Um… I lost my virginity last night.” 

Izzie’s face screws up in an expression I have a hard time reading; maybe something between confusion and frustration. “What do you mean?” she says, eyes narrowed. 

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” I repeat. “I had sex with Jackson. He took my virginity. Well, I gave it to him.” 

She shakes her head, lips pressed together as her chin juts forward. “So… what about all those times we had sex?” she continues, sounding pissed. “Nothing? They meant nothing to you?” She scoffs. “You honestly considered yourself a virgin until you had a dick inside you. Jesus, April, do you know how damaging that is?”

“Everyone’s concept of virginity is different,” I say. “It’s not that I-” 

“No,” she says. “It’s invalidating. I get that virginity is a construct made up by the patriarchy and it honestly shouldn’t be a thing, but you’re not only insinuating that the sex between you and me didn’t mean anything, you’re insinuating that women having sex with women is invalid in general. Do you understand?” I stay silent, face growing red. I feel put on the spot and I have nothing to say for myself. “His dick didn’t take your virginity,” she hisses. “My mouth did.” 

“Okay,” I say, eyes wide and face hot. “You don’t have to… okay. Yeah.”

“It pisses me off when people say shit like that about bi girls, that they’re technically still virgins ‘cause they’ve only had sex with girls. It’s not true. Do you get it?” 

“Yeah,” I say, wringing my hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to get angry, it’s just that… well, having sex with you meant something to me. I loved being that close and I always thought you valued it as much as I did. And you just made it sound like it didn’t count.”

“It did count,” I say. “I just thought… I don’t know, everyone makes it seem like that in order to not be a virgin, you have to be penetrated by something. And we never…”

“April,” she says. “I know you don’t have anyone in your life to teach you this shit, so I’m gonna be real with you. There isn’t just one way to have sex, which means there isn’t just one way to lose your virginity.”

I take a few minutes and sit with what she said. Is that why I didn’t feel any different last night after what Jackson and I did? It’s not that I thought about Izzie while we were in the middle of it, but she’s been the only other person I’ve been intimate with. I feel stupid now, never classifying what we did as ‘sex.’ How could I have been so dumb? What would it have been other than sex? I shake my head at myself, then say, “I feel like such an idiot.” 

“You’re not an idiot,” she says.

“Everything I do and say is wrong,” I say. “According to literally everyone around me, I can’t do anything right.” I look right into her eyes, those pretty brown eyes. “I don’t know why I never called it ‘sex’ in my head, you know, what we did. It makes no sense. I feel like I was a horrible girlfriend. Of course we were having sex. Why didn’t I realize it?” 

She shrugs, raising her eyebrows a bit. “You were getting used to being with a girl,” she says. “You were like a little puppy, learning everything for the first time. It’s okay not to know. But it’s not okay to keep perpetuating that mindset, which is why I told you.”

“Okay,” I say, one tear slipping out.

Before I can do it, she reaches to wipe it away with her thumb. “You’re okay,” she says. “Don’t cry.”

“Does that mean I lied to him?” I ask, holding her hand with both of mine as it falls from my face. “I told him that I was a virgin. So stupid.” 

“Just explain it,” she says. “If he cares about you, he’ll understand. You’re always gonna keep learning and growing and getting to know yourself better.” 

“Yeah,” I say, sniffling. I look towards the floor for a long moment before letting my eyes roam back to her face, and I find her still studying me. “It did mean something, between you and me,” I say. “It really did. I…” My voice breaks and I close my mouth to clear my throat. “I still think about you.”

“Me, too,” she says. 

“You taught me a lot,” I say, then laugh sadly. “You’re still teaching me, I guess.” 

“I’m glad to,” she says. “You still matter to me.” 

“You, too.” 

We’re so close already, it doesn’t take much for it to happen. I don’t know who initiates it, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we both reciprocate once we realize what’s happening and lean in for a soft, chaste kiss that turns into nothing else. I close my eyes and touch the side of her face, remembering all its familiar curves, and she overlaps my hand with hers, lingering for only a moment. But as quick as it started, it’s over and we pull away like we’ve been burned - shocked and regretful. She’s blushing and I’m mortified - something seemed to take over my mind that I had no control over. “Sorry,” I say, covering my mouth. “I shouldn’t… I… I’m seeing Jackson.”

“I know,” she says. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to. It just…” 

“I know.” 

I avert my eyes and press cold fingers to my cheeks in an attempt to try and cool them down. I don’t know what the kiss made me feel - maybe at home, more than anything. It was familiar and safe, two things I haven’t quite achieved with Jackson yet. I know I can’t have the best of both worlds, though; Izzie and I are over. It’s not that there’s an absence of feelings between us, but we’ve already been made aware of the fact that we don’t work. My brain has moved on, but my heart is obviously lingering. I wish it would stop. 

“I should go,” I say, gathering my things. I don’t trust myself around her. It’s not that I think I’m going to jump her, but I didn’t think I was going to kiss her today. I don’t like the feeling of unpredictability, so my best choice is to remove myself. I don’t think I should see her again. It’s not good for either of us. 

“We didn’t talk about Steph,” she says, craning her neck to look at me as I stand. 

“I know,” I say. “I… I know. I just have to go.” 

“April,” she says, trying to bring me back to earth. “You don’t have to leave. You can stay. It was a mistake, it didn’t mean anything.” 

I pause for a moment, running my top teeth over my bottom lip. “But it could,” I say weakly. “And I don’t want it to.”

…

I try to call Steph for the rest of the weekend to no avail. I leave her a few voicemails but it’s no use; she’s probably not even listening before erasing them. I finally give up, but that only gives me time to think about what else that’s bothering me - that kiss, and how guilty I feel over it.

I know I have to tell Jackson, too, along with the virginity thing. I don’t know how he’ll react or if he’ll want to stay with me. I’ve gone over how I want to say it a thousand times, but I don’t know if he’ll hear me the way I want him to. 

I know I’m not acting like myself with Athena on Monday afternoon, and she notices, too. I try to snap out of it, but it’s difficult when I keep looking at the clock waiting for 7pm to arrive. I know Jackson will waltz through that door, probably happy to see me, having no clue what’s to come. 

“I wanna learn a new song,” Athena says, fingers dancing on the keys as she looks at me brightly. “Can you play a new one for me?”

“A new one?” I echo, blinking dazedly at her hands. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow. I’m feeling a little off today.”

“No, you’re not,” she says, lifting one of my hands to set it on the piano. “Come on, please? Just one? I’m tired of playing the ones I’ve been doing. I did them all weekend and I got really good. I don’t need to practice them anymore.” 

“What you need is a teacher who challenges you,” I say. “I told you that you might outgrow my skills. I think you’ve already gotten there.” 

“No, I haven’t,” she says. “‘Cause you won’t show me another song. Show me!” 

“Hey,” I say, frowning. 

“Please?”

I sigh and sit up straighter, flipping through the Roladex of pieces in my head that I have memorized. “Okay,” I say. “Then, after this, I’m gonna go start on dinner. I only have the capacity for one.”

“Okay, can you just play it now?”

“You’re getting a little pushy,” I say. “I don’t like it.” 

“Please?” she says again, trying to appease me. “Oh, by the way. You’re invited to my birthday party on Sunday.” 

“I know,” I say, realizing seconds later that I shouldn’t have let that slip. 

“How do you know?” she asks. “I just told you.” 

“I just assumed,” I say. “I mean, given that I’m your favorite nanny ever.” 

“You’re my  _ only _ nanny,” she says with a smile. 

“Is anyone else coming?” I ask.

“You, Daddy, Grandma, Grandpa, Auntie Maggie and my cousins,” she says, reaching to trace the lettering of the piano brand - Bechstein.

“What about friends from school?” 

She looks at me with disgust, like she can’t believe I just said that. “Who?” she spits. “I don’t have any. They’re all dumb babies.” 

“Just something to think about,” I say. “A party full of adults doesn’t sound very fun to me.” 

“You’re not an adult, you always say that,” she says, which is true. “You have a kid heart. So, it won’t be full of adults. Plus my cousins.” 

“You’ve told me you don’t like playing with your cousins all too much,” I say. “So, what fun is that? Why not invite someone who you actually enjoy playing with?” 

She looks at me with wide eyes like the answer is obvious. “You,” she says. “Can you play a song now?”

“Alright, alright,” I say. “This one’s called Rondo in D Major, and it’s by Mozart. You ready?” She nods vigorously and I start to play, letting my wrists and fingers bounce as they move with the music. This piece is fun, fast, and light, and I look forward to see how quickly she absorbs it. I can already picture the smile on Jackson’s face when he sees her hands moving at lightning speed across the keys. 

“Whoa!” she exclaims once I finish. “That was so fast! Let me try now, let me try!”

“Alright, go ahead,” I say, getting up from the stool. “Do you need to hear it again, or do you have it?” She doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she starts playing the notes with a huge smile on her face - not quite as quickly as they need to go, but accurately. “There you go!” I say enthusiastically. This will never get old, will never stop being this amazing. I walk over and kiss the top of her head, arms overlapping her collarbones as she plays an intricate song she heard only once. “It’s perfect, baby, it’s perfect,” I muse, closing my eyes while letting the sound overtake me. 

Instead of starting dinner, I sit back down on the bench with Athena until Jackson gets home. When he walks through the door, we’re laughing over a few wrong notes, but his presence makes my stomach drop considerably. He looks happy, but I can’t match the feeling because I know what the rest of tonight holds. He doesn’t. 

“Hey, ladies!” he says exuberantly, walking to the piano. He drops a kiss on Athena’s hair and actively resists doing the same for me, I can tell. I feel the tension. “Learning a new song, I hear?” 

“I’m a master at it already, daddy!” Athena boasts. “It’s Mozart. I’ll play it for you. Listen!” 

He leans on the piano and listens as she goes through the whole thing, eyes focused with her lips set in a straight, concentrated expression. But once she finishes, she’s beaming and so is he. “That was awesome, sweetheart!” he says. “Did you just learn that this afternoon?” 

“April just played it and I just learned it,” she says. “I went so fast.” 

“Yes, you did,” he says. “That was great.” 

“I think I can get faster,” she says. 

“How about you try and do that, and me and April will go see what we can gather for dinner, alright?” She nods and I take that as my cue to stand up and follow him into the kitchen. I know now isn’t the time to bring up what I need to - Athena can’t be privy to what I’m sure will transpire. But I feel like I need to let him know a conversation is called for. “Hey,” he says, setting his things down before walking to where I stand by the fridge. “How was she today?” 

“Good,” I say. “Excited about that song.”

“I see that,” he says, eyeing me while I can’t seem to look at him. “How are you?” 

“Um, I’m fine,” I say, clasping my hands together. 

“Really?” he asks. “Because you don’t seem all that fine.” 

I take a deep breath and close the distance between us, winding my arms around his waist for a hug. He reciprocates, of course, resting his cheek on top of my head while rubbing my spine. “I have a lot on my mind,” I say. “A lot I need to talk to you about.” 

“Okay,” he says. “Right now, or…?” 

“Later,” I say. “If that’s alright.” 

“Of course,” he says.

The evening seems to drag by, but luckily Athena excitedly accepts my presence instead of asking why I’m staying so late. She requests only me putting her to bed, but this time I make it a quick trip that ends with a hug and a soft kiss to the forehead. She’s tired anyway and doesn’t ask for much more. When I come back downstairs, Jackson is pouring each of us a glass of wine and walking to the couch with them in hand. “I don’t know if I’m up for that tonight,” I say, nodding towards the goblet resting atop a coaster in front of me.

“Oh,” he says, unbothered. “Well, it’s there if you change your mind.” 

“Okay.” 

“So…” he begins. “What’s up?” 

I lick my lips and try to remember how I want to start. Nothing comes to mind, though, and suddenly my whole body has gone frigid. “Um…” I clear my throat, blinking rapidly. “Okay. I don’t really know how to get into it, but I want you to know that I’m telling you this because you’re important to me, and our relationship is important, and honesty is a big part of it. I don’t want there to be any lies or hidden truths between us, so I want to put everything out there. Even the hard stuff.” 

“Alright,” he says, waiting.

I take a deep breath and let it out with puffy cheeks. “Okay. Well, on Saturday, I saw Izzie. I was upset after you left on Friday night and needed someone to talk to about Steph, someone who knows her and our friendship. Izzie was the only one who fit that bill, so we got together at Starbucks. I was telling her that I lost my virginity because I needed her to know the backstory as to how Steph walked in, and she got really confused. Like, asking how I lost my virginity when it was already gone? And we got into this whole conversation about what virginity means for a bi girl and what it doesn’t mean, and I learned that the way I was thinking about it was actually pretty toxic.” I look him dead in the eyes, no matter how hard it is. “I wasn’t a virgin when I slept with you on Friday. I had sex with Izzie… we had sex a lot while we were together. But some gross, uneducated part of my mind thought that it didn’t count because there wasn’t a penis involved… I don’t know. I know I was wrong, that’s what matters now. It took me a long time, but I learned something.” 

He takes my long pause as a sign that I’m done, so he nods slowly and says, “Okay. I mean, I understand. I don’t care, honestly. You telling me doesn’t mean I liked having sex with you any less. I don’t care who you slept with before me, April. I’m glad you told me - that’s important - but it doesn’t change who you are now. I’m glad it’s clearer for you, though. That’s good.” 

“Yeah,” I say, trying to warm up my hands. “Um… that’s not all, though.” 

“Oh,” he says, frowning. “Okay.”

I jiggle my foot and the movement makes my entire leg shake. I press my lips together and look up at the ceiling, hating myself for being in this position. If Izzie and I hadn’t kissed, I’d be done telling him everything I need to say and everything would be fine. He understood the virginity thing, but that’s the least of my problems. I wish it were the majority of them, though. “Um…” I stammer, opening and closing my mouth to try and figure out how to say it. “While we were in Starbucks, I wasn’t thinking straight. My emotions were running really high, and I didn’t feel like myself. That’s no excuse, I’m not making excuses, but I’m saying it was a mistake.” I swallow hard and look at my lap when I say, “We kissed. Izzie and me, we… um, we kissed.” 

There’s a sick, pregnant pause in the air after I drop the statement. I look at his face to find his features hard and glazed over, blinking like he’s deep in thought. “Wait,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “What?”

“It was a mistake,” I say, leaning forward. 

“April,” he continues, still just as confused. “You told me you were over her. You said that, clear as day, in the car. I believed you.” 

“I wasn’t lying,” I say. “She and I, we have a lot of history. It’s hard to explain, I know it’s hard to understand, too…” 

“No, it’s really not,” he says. “How am I supposed to believe you now? After you’ve already told me as much once and gone back on your words?” 

“I hadn’t seen her in forever,” I say. “It was overwhelming. We didn’t leave each other on great terms, I didn’t get closure. I don’t even know if I have it now, but I do know that kissing her was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done it, and I left right after. I was always going to tell you. I wasn’t going to keep it from you.” 

He chews the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says. “Listen, you know how I feel about you, but this is immature, April. I have a child. I can’t be with someone who’s immature, I just can’t.”

“I’m not immature,” I say. “Don’t say that. You know it’s not true.” 

“I didn’t think it was until you told me you kissed your ex first thing upon seeing her,” he says. 

“It wasn’t… oh, my god,” I say. “We started talking about, I don’t know, us. And I was remembering all the good times because that’s how it goes after you’ve been away from someone. You remember all the good, and all the bad shit fades away. All the stuff that made you break up doesn’t seem to matter. All of a sudden she was right there and it was happening. But it was over fast. I am not immature, Jackson, I’m trying to figure myself out. I don’t really know what it means to be bi - I mean, for me. I’m still learning. I was wrong about the virginity thing and I’m sure I’ll be wrong about a lot more stuff, too.” I let loose a short, desperate gust of air. “But like I said! I want you by my side through those things. Through the hard times.” 

He shakes his head. “You expect me to stick around and wait while you kiss your ex? Do a few more trial runs while you guys reminisce about your relationship?” He closes his eyes for a long moment then opens them again. “I’m sorry, April, but I’m just not here for that.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” I argue. “You’re not hearing me. I’m sorry that she and I kissed. I promise it won’t happen again, I swear. It was wrong and it was a betrayal of your trust. I ran to her because I knew she’d understand-” 

“What makes you think I wouldn’t have?” he asks. “If you don’t tell me shit, how do you expect me to understand?” 

“You weren’t the right person to talk to about Steph,” I say. 

“Because you wouldn’t let me be,” he says. “I wanted to listen. I wanted to hear the whole thing. But the only person you thought about was her. Izzie.”

“No,” I say. “No. I didn’t want to tell you because it’s too much backstory. I don’t want to burden you with that. She already knows all of it, Izzie does.”

“It wouldn’t have been a goddamn burden!” he says. “I care about you, that means I care about your problems. Can’t you see? Can’t you see that I am so damn head over heels for you?” 

With wide eyes, I take a sobering, cleansing breath. We spend an electric moment staring at each other’s faces before he grabs mine and kisses me powerfully, forcing us both to lose our breath. I open my mouth against his and drape my arms over his shoulders, getting myself as close as I can before he moves down to my neck and leaves a trail of bite marks to my chest. 

We don’t speak. We don’t have to, because we both know what’s about to happen and it’s what we both want. When he pulls away to tear his shirt off, I do the same and don’t waste time before unclipping my bra and tossing it behind me. He opens his mouth along my collarbones and grabs at my shoulder blades to keep me close, breathing against my skin in the loud, hot way that I love.

I sit up a little straighter so my breasts are in his face and he sucks on my nipples roughly, but only for a moment. After they’re strained and soaked with saliva, he pushes me off of his lap so I’m flat against the back cushions of the couch, then lowers to his knees on the carpet. With his eyes locked on mine, he unbuttons and unzips my jeans, latches his fingers through the belt loops, then yanks them off in one fell swoop. He throws them over one shoulder and widens my knees, going for my underwear without pausing. After those are off and in a different corner of the living room, he pulls my hips forward and puts his mouth on my core, spreading my lips with his fingers and slipping his tongue inside. “Fuck,” I breathe, one hand on the back of his head. “Fuck yes.” 

He doesn’t let me get too worked up, though, before he stands and strips the rest of the way down. After all of his clothes are gone, I can see that he has a huge erection and it’s ready for me, so I open up and welcome him on top of my body, pressing me back against the cushions as he covers me with his bulky frame. 

When he sinks inside, I can’t help but gasp and he doesn’t let me get used to the feeling. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and dig my nails into the back of his rib cage, then tuck my face into the side of his neck as he thrusts into me. He goes hard and fast, full of passion and emotion as he claims my body, and I get lost in the way he feels. My mind is present for the first time in days and he wakes my body in a way I had no clue he could. I’m sure I must be leaving scratches on his skin, but that doesn’t deter him in the slightest as he pumps his hips and works us both to climax - but his comes first this time. He shoves against me harder, stronger, at a more uneven rate, until his hips stop moving entirely and he stays buried to the hilt as an orgasm courses through his system. “Shit,” he curses, forehead resting on my shoulder as heat spills inside me. “Goddamn.” 

He’s sweaty once it’s over, but he doesn’t let me go unfinished. Without saying a word, he sinks to his knees once again and throws my legs over his shoulders, flattening me onto my back as he eats me out with intensity. I keep one hand in his hair and the other over my mouth so I don’t scream - I’m very aware of who’s upstairs - and I literally see stars when I come. I lock my thighs around his head much in the way I did last time and he buries his nails in the outside of my thighs, slapping the skin soundly once I let him free. “God,” I pant, one hand to my sweaty chest. 

He showers my inner thighs with soft kisses, licking my legs, stomach, breasts, neck, until he reaches my mouth. He adjusts my body that’s too spent to move and places me fully on the couch, watching me and seemingly waiting for my next move. 

I prop myself up on an elbow, studying him as well. “That didn’t fix anything,” I say, but extend one arm anyway. “Come here, though.” 

With a soft smile, he concedes. I wrap myself up in him - legs entangled, arms around each other’s waists, foreheads pressed together as I blink right into his eyes. “Hi,” he says. 

I trace his muscular side as I try and think of what to say. “I am sorry, you know,” I say. “For kissing her. If I could take it back, I would. It’s really not what I wanted. So, I’m sorry.” 

He nods, head moving against mine. I move my hand from his side to rest on his cheek, stroking the apple of it. “Okay,” he says. “Thank you.” 

“But I’m bi for a reason,” I say. “A confusing one, but nonetheless. Sometimes, it seems like I’m less of one when I’m with a guy. I don’t know if that makes sense and I still have to come to terms with it. Bi. Bi means two, guys and girls. Like, if I’m with a guy, I’m still bisexual.” I trace the bridge of his nose all the way to the tip. “I have strong feelings for you,” I say. “But if you’re insecure about my sexuality, then it’s not my problem. We can’t be together if that’s the case. I’ll still be Athena’s nanny, but… that’s it.” 

“April,” he says, forehead wrinkling. He takes my wrist and moves my hand away so he can look at me directly. “I don’t know where you’re getting the notion that I’m insecure about your bisexuality, because I’m not. At all. What I’m insecure about is that you kissed your ex. Not that your ex is a girl.” He looks at me with clear eyes - not laced with frustration, pretense, or anything. “You have to stop projecting. I want to be with you no matter how complicated you are or how complicated our relationship happens to be. But only if you want - and I mean  _ really _ want - to be with me. So,” he says, weaving his fingers through my hair. “The question is, do you?” 

I don’t need time to think about it. After I close my eyes and give him a long, lasting kiss, I keep him close with a hand on his chest and say, “I really, really do.” 


	10. Chapter 10

**JACKSON**

I should feel heavy with everything April just laid on me, but for some reason I’m lighter. She’s as close as I can get her, completely naked, having just told me she’s all in. Right now, I can’t pinpoint a single worry in my mind. With a smile, I murmur, “So, you wanna be together.” I tuck her hair behind her ear, moving it away from her face. “You wanna make this work with me?” 

“If you wanna make it work with me,” she says, slipping one leg between both of mine. “Yeah, I do.” 

“Good,” I say. 

“Does any of what I said…” she trails off. “Does it bother you?”

“April, I already told you,” I say. “I’m happy that you’re comfortable enough to tell me about your sexuality. I appreciate that a lot. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable - I’m secure enough in myself and my trust for you.” 

“You do still trust me, right?” she questions. “Even though I…” She widens her eyes. I can tell she doesn’t want to say it. 

Admittedly, the fact that she kissed her ex came as a surprise - especially given the fact that it happened the day after we had sex. The virginity concept doesn’t bother me in the slightest; I’d actually been wondering about it myself. After she told me that she knew what oral felt like because of Izzie, I was curious as to how she still considered herself a virgin. At the time, though, I told myself it was her business and I shouldn’t call attention to it. I’m happy she figured it out on her own, though, and was able to validate her bisexuality in doing so. What I’m not happy about is that I sense feelings lingering between she and Izzie - but it isn’t April that I don’t trust. I understand what she’s been saying about trying to figure herself out. Who I can’t help but call into question is Izzie. I don’t know her and I don’t care to, but who’s to say what she might do now that they were intimate again? It’s a thought that I can’t let go of, and I doubt I’ll be able to for a while. “Of course I trust you,” I tell her honestly. 

“I feel like there’s something you’re not saying,” she mutters, reading my mind.

“Well…” I begin. “It’s just that I know how you feel about kissing her. You-”

“I said it was a mistake,” she says, hurrying to fill in the words. 

“I know,” I say.

“And you believe me, right?”

“Yes,” I say, smoothing a hand down her arm and touching her nose with my own. “But what about her? How does she feel about it?” 

Clouds pass through her eyes as she wonders the same thing. “She said it was wrong, too,” she says. “At least, I think she did. It was such a whirlwind moment, I… I can’t remember all that well. A lot was going on and I just wanted to get out of there. It made me feel sick. It made me feel like a cheater, and I am  _ not _ a cheater.” 

“You don’t have to keep telling me that, baby,” I say.

She smiles, big and cheesy as she somehow pulls herself even closer. “You just called me ‘baby,’” she says through her grin. 

“It’s not the first time,” I say, trying to play it cool. 

“I know,” she says, fingers dancing on my chest. Suddenly, I feel every inch of her warm body against me, pressing into all the right places. I never want to move out of this position, never want to let her get further away than she is right now. “I like it.” She’s quiet for a while, dropping a few kisses to my chest before speaking again. “I don’t know what she thinks,” she says. “Izzie. I kind of want to talk to her about it, though. Not for… for a weird reason or anything, but I think we should set things straight. I want to let her know that I’m like, really with you. She and I can’t turn into anything… I don’t want us to.” 

“Whatever you think is best,” I say. “Whatever will make you feel more at ease, you should do it.”

“I might wait,” she says. “I don’t know if I’ll be ready to see her for a while. It’s weird. I don’t know how to get closure. Every time I talk to her or… or see her, it feels like there’s always one last string to tie. Does that make sense? It probably doesn’t. I don’t know what I’m talking about. It just feels so unfinished, like with every interaction, we keep dragging it out. And I don’t even know what we’re dragging out!” She sighs. “I hate it. It’s so confusing. Because here I am with you, completely in…” Her face blushes a brilliant red and I pretend not to notice. “Having really strong feelings, and I don’t  _ want _ to be back in a relationship with her. I’m right where I want to be, here with you. I don’t know what the hell I need to feel done with her.” 

“Time, maybe,” I suggest. “Sometimes, time is the best option.” 

“Yeah,” she says. “You’re probably right.” She stops to think for a while, rubbing her palm in circles over my chest in a soothing pattern. “You know, Izzie was actually the first person who I told about you,” she says, surprising me. “I just felt like I could. And I wanted to, you know? I was happy to tell her… I’m happy that we’re together. I don’t know why that matters, but I felt like you should know. I didn’t wanna keep that from her, that was I with someone. With you.” 

“So, she knew,” I say. “She knows.” 

“Yeah,” she says. “And she’s seeing someone, too. I wonder if she told them about what happened.”

“I hope so.”

“Yeah, me too,” she says. “You know, I wanted to tell Steph about you, too. But she didn’t wanna hear it. I want to tell freaking everyone because I’m excited, but… I don’t think we should do that yet.” 

“No, not yet,” I agree, and she turns onto her back. I rest a hand on her bare stomach and stroke her skin with my thumb, enjoying the rise and fall as she breathes. “I wanna tell people too, though,” I say. “I’d love to bring you home flowers and kiss you whenever I want.”

“So, you mean… you want Athena to know,” she fills in. 

“I do,” I say, trying to piece together my thoughts. “But… at the same time, I don’t.” I sigh. “It’s not that I’m not ready, but I don’t think she is.” 

“No, I agree,” she says. “She’s not.” She lifts her outside arm and bends it at the elbow, resting a hand under head. “She’s kinda getting to be my little best friend, you know.” 

“Getting to be?” I echo. “She’s already there. When you’re not around, you’re all she talks about.” I kiss her cheek, slow and sweet. “You’re pretty much the only thing we think about.”

“I guess I’ve hypnotized the Averys,” she says, giggling with her eyes closed. “I love how excited she gets when I play a song and she learns it right away. There’s this look that comes onto her face… just pure joy. I wish I could bottle it up and save it.” She smiles softly. “And how she skips over and takes my hand right away after school, I love that. And one of these days she’s gonna have the monkey bars down, I’m telling you.” 

“You’ve done so much for her,” I say, still rubbing her belly. “You really have. I can’t thank you enough.” 

“She’s done just as much for me,” she murmurs. “I love her, Jackson. She’s an amazing little girl.”

“She is,” I say, then sigh. “Honestly, though, I can’t help feeling jealous. Sometimes, I wish I knew how to get to her like you do. We’re doing better than we were before, but… I don’t know. It’s still not great.” 

“Well, what she and I have isn’t perfect, you know,” April adds. “She still pitches fits and gets stubborn. Still gets that rude tone with me.”

“I know,” I say. “But I mean... more than that. You guys have this closeness and I feel like it’s not there between the two of us. And I want it to be - I mean, she’s my daughter. I want her to feel like she can tell me anything and I’ll always be here for her.” 

“I think she knows that, deep down,” she says. “But you know what she would really, really like?” 

“What?” 

“Just play with her,” she says. “Do you see how she lights up when you pick her up and act silly? How hard she laughs? She loves it.” 

“She always tells me she doesn’t like playing,” I say, remembering the times she’s said those exact words.

“She’s a kid, Jackson,” April says. “Believe me, she likes to play. She just isn’t quite sure how because she’s been too stubborn to learn. So, show her.” 

“I can do that,” I say, confidence growing. “I can play.”

“And snuggle with her,” she continues. “Hold her close when she asks. Hug and kiss her in the morning and at night, or whenever you feel like it. That’s your baby, baby. She wants affection from you.” 

I smile and let my eyes drift shut as I inch closer to her face again. “You know so much,” I say, fingers mapping her waist as I pull her in. 

“She’s taught me a lot,” I say. “Really, she has.” 

“We’re so lucky to have you,” I say, turning her head so I can kiss her lips. She opens her mouth and takes a deep breath through her nose, rolling onto her side to face me again. She drapes an arm over my side and bends her knee, resting it over my hips so I have plenty of leverage to slip a hand between her thighs. 

“Oh,” she says, a bit surprised. She smiles into the kiss, though, one hand flat on my spine.

“Is that good?” I ask, lips moving against hers.

“Yeah,” she says, breathing deeply as I tease apart her lips and nudge her clit with the pads of two fingers. “Mmm, yes.” 

It’s strange and beautiful, being intimate with her in the open area of the house. Athena is a heavy sleeper, I’m not worried about her in the slightest, and it’s freeing to do this like we are. When Myla was alive and our sex life was active, this was never something she wanted. She always said it made her feel exposed to do it here on the couch, with no coverage of darkness or blankets. I always respected her wishes, I could see where she was coming from, but the change of pace is refreshing. 

“Oh, that feels so good,” April sighs as I sink my fingers in to the second knuckle and pump them with slow intensity. “Jackson, mmm.” 

I don’t know why Myla crossed my mind when April is right here in front of me, the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. The seal our lips create breaks only so she can murmur my name, but other than that we don’t stop kissing. She moans into my mouth and I swallow the sound, keeping it at the base of my throat where it’s warm. As her hips start to move against my hand, I know she’s close - but my mind has begun to wander. Since I thought about Myla so involuntarily, does that mean she thinks about Izzie much in the same way? It’s not that I’m worried, more curious over anything. I’m embarrassed that Myla came to mind with my fingers inside her, so I can imagine she would feel the same.

“Gonna come,” she breathes, and I continue to pump against her g-spot while stimulating her clit with my thumb. “Oooh, shit, I’m gonna come.”

When she does, she initially presses her lips together to keep in the sound. I can’t help but watch her facial features morph and transform, mouth going from tight-lipped to wide open with her eyes rolled back, hips twitching with the after-effects. “You are so fuckin’ gorgeous,” I say once her walls stop clenching and fluttering.

“Oh,” she groans, eyes still closed as she turns towards me and grabs my wrist. She pulls my hand up from between her legs and - in a move that shocks me - sucks on the fingers that had just been inside her. 

“Fucking Christ,” I say, watching her in rapture.

When she releases them, she flops onto her back with her arms over her head and tries to catch her breath. I smile proudly over what I was able to do, then kiss the swell of her breast - wondering if I should say what’s on my mind. “What’re you thinking,” she breathes, not long after.

“How could you tell I was thinking?” I ask. 

“Not talking,” she replies, opening her eyes. “Something’s on your mind.” She looks over and meets my gaze soberly, clear in the way only post-orgasm eyes look. “We’ve already aired everything else out tonight, so you might as well just say it.”

I chuckle. “You’re right,” I say. “Okay. It’s odd, but I couldn’t help but think of all the ways you’re different from Myla.” I clear my throat. “Sexually, I mean.” 

She raises her eyebrows; that’s clearly not what she expected. “Oh,” she says, and I notice a faint blush on her cheeks. “Um… is that a good thing, or…?” 

“Yeah, of course,” I say. “If you were exactly the same, I might be a little worried.” I laugh, and the tension breaks as she grins. “You’re so much more outgoing.”

“What do you mean?”

“We fucked on the couch,” I say. “Right in the open. She would have never been down for that.” 

She screws up her eyebrows. “It’s not like we’re in the… the dressing rooms at JCPenney, or something” she says. 

“Wait,” I say. “Have you…” 

“No!” she says, smacking my chest lightly while giggling. “Jesus, you think I’m some kinky freak?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” I say. “You just sucked my fingers after I got done fucking you with them. That’s…” 

“Not something she did, I’m guessing,” April finishes. 

I shake my head. “No, no. Definitely not.” 

“You did it when we were in the bathroom,” she says, touching my chin. “Was it too much?” 

“Fuck no. It was sexy as hell.” 

“Good,” she says, pleased. I’m quiet as thoughts buzz through my brain, watching her stare at the ceiling. “I know you’re thinking it, so I’m just gonna say it,” she says. “Izzie was good in bed. She gave me a lot of orgasms, but she’s not in my head while you fuck me.” She shrugs. “She’s just not. I’m not gonna compare you guys. Penis, no penis, it’s not comparable. It’s just… really different.”

“I get that,” I say, and I do. “Do you find it weird that I thought about Myla, then?” 

“I mean, as long as you’re not thinking about her to get off,” she says, a concerned look in her eyes. “You aren’t, are you?”

“No, god no,” I say. “I don’t need to think about anything for that when you’re right in front of me.”

“Good,” she says. 

“It’ll probably go away,” I say. “I think I’m just getting used to having sex with someone new after-”

“7 years of wearing a chastity belt,” she giggles.

“I really don’t like you,” I say, shaking my head. 

She laughs a little harder, a little louder, as she tucks her face into my neck. “Oh, come on,” she says. “Yes, you do.” 

I bury one hand in her hair and hold the back of her head as she tips her chin to look in my eyes. “Maybe a little,” I say, kissing her slow. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an amazing kisser?” she sighs. “God, I could kiss you all night.” 

“I’d kiss you all night in a heartbeat,” I say. “All over.” 

I reach lower and grab a firm handful of her ass, squeezing hard once I get a good grip. Her eyes flash and she drags her nails along my side, most definitely able to feel my erection pressing against her thighs. “I wish I could stay over,” she whispers, then snickers. “We would not sleep. At all.” 

“I know,” I say, keeping my hand where it is. I love her ass. I love everything about her perfect body. “Ugh, I know.”

Before she leaves for the night, she slips a hand between us and makes quick work of getting rid of the erection that’s been building. She jerks me off quick and dirty, keeping eye contact the entire time, even when I can’t hold back and end up blowing my load all over her stomach. “I have to be up early tomorrow,” she says, reaching for my t-shirt to wipe herself off with. After she’s mostly clean, she straddles my hips and runs her hands up my chest to rest on my neck. “Otherwise I’d be jumping you right now.” 

“Aren’t you already?” I ask, fingers digging into her hips. 

“I can’t,” she says, dismounting. I stay in the position I’m in and rest my hands behind my head, watching her slowly get dressed. “I can feel you staring,” she says, clipping her bra. 

“And?” 

She looks over her shoulder wearing a devious grin and shakes her head. “I can’t stand you,” she says. I get up and walk her to the door after putting my boxers on, pressing her against the frame to kiss her senseless before she goes anywhere. With my pointer finger laced through her belt loop and the other hand copping a feel on her breast, I’m already halfway to another boner. “Okay, okay, I gotta go,” she says, pulling away with swollen lips. “Really. I have to.”

“Alright,” I say. “No one’s stopping you.” 

“Yes, you are,” she says playfully, through gritted teeth as she reaches to grab my bulge. “You’re such a horndog. And a bad influence.” 

“Flip the script and you’ve got that right,” I say, stealing one last kiss. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, halfway out the door. She presses a hand against my bare chest and looks me right in the eye to say, “Go brush your teeth, then kiss your daughter goodnight.” 

“I will,” I say. 

“Okay,” she says, turning to head down the steps. But before she can get far, though, she hurries back and throws her arms around my shoulders to kiss me hard. When she pulls away, she lingers near my face, noses touching, to say, “I’m glad we made up.”

“Me, too,” I say, hands skimming her back. 

“Okay,” she says. “Now, I’m really leaving.” 

“Text me when you get home.”

She waves and I watch her get into an Uber before shutting the door. I turn off the lights downstairs then head up, doing April one better and showering instead of only brushing my teeth. I add that in, too, of course, feeling fresh and clean by the time I’m out. As I’m drying off, I see a new message on my phone that says:

**RECEIVED, 12:03am- Home safe. I had a great night. You’re a keeper. :)**

My stomach should definitely not be jumping in the way it is right now, but I try not to chastise myself too much. I’m allowed to be stupidly excited over a new relationship, over a woman who I have feelings for. It’s a good thing. 

**SENT, 12:04am- So are you. Sleep tight, Kiwi.**

After adding a kiwi emoji for good measure, I plug my phone in for the night and head down the hall towards Athena’s room. I push open the door and look to her bed, able to see her clear as day with the strong night light plugged into the wall. The ‘Classical Favorites’ CD is playing softly, but it doesn’t bother me now. It resides in the back of my mind and I let it stay there as I walk closer to her bed, kneeling once I arrive. She’s facing me, the bunny under her arm, pink silk bonnet covering her hair. One hand is curled under her chin and I can’t help but smile as I look at her calm face; she must be dreaming, too, because her lips are twitching.

I kiss her forehead and she doesn’t wake, but I can’t make myself leave quite yet. I don’t get moments like this often, mostly because I don’t create them. I don’t want to lose this one. Suddenly, it hits me that she won’t be this little forever; in fact, not much longer at all. So, instead of leaving her with just a kiss, I crawl in beside her. And even though I try to be gentle, I end up jostling the full-sized bed and it wakes her up. “Daddy…?” she asks confusedly, turning to see me on her opposite side. “What are you doing in my bed?” 

“Hey…” I say, smiling at her bleary-eyed face. “I just wanted to come lay with you for a while, baby.” 

“Why?” 

I blink hard and find I don’t know how to answer. It didn’t strike me that she’d ask why, but I guess she has the grounds for it. It’s not like I’ve ever done this before. “‘Cause I just love you, I guess,” I say, one hand on her cheek.

“Oh,” she says, closing her eyes again. She pulls herself close and tucks both her body and the bunny’s against my chest, nuzzling my t-shirt. “I love you, too,” she murmurs before falling back to sleep. 

I rest my chin atop her head and feel my heart soak with emotion for my daughter, in my arms and loving me. I had only planned on staying for a few minutes, but I know I won’t go anywhere now. Just to keep her like this for a little bit longer, I’ll sleep in here tonight.

…

On the day of Athena’s party, she’s wearing her best dress and hiding behind the couch, looking out the bay window. “Thena,” I say, walking into the living room after making sure everyone is alright in the kitchen. “Everyone’s here to see you. Why won’t you come and talk to them, birthday girl? Maybe thank them for coming to celebrate your special day?” She doesn’t answer, so I get closer and peer over the back of the couch. She’s sitting with her back to it, arms overlapped on the windowsill as she stares through the glass. The skirt of her sequined tulle dress is fanned around her legs as they’re tucked beneath her like a fawn. “Thena?’ 

“No,” she says, without moving her head or turning around. 

“Come on, baby,” I say. “Why?” 

“I’m waiting for her,” she says. “She’ll be here. I’m not coming out until she comes.” I sigh and rub my temples, fully aware that she’s talking about April. Technically, the party started a half hour ago, but she still isn’t here. I shot her a text out of pure desperation but it’s still unanswered. “Call her, daddy,” Athena says. “Maybe something bad happened. Maybe she got in a car crash.” 

“She didn’t get in a car crash,” I say. 

“You don’t know,” she says. “Sometimes bad things happen ‘cause for no reason. They just happen. What if a bad thing happened to my April?” 

“Nothing happened to her, I promise,” I say. 

“She said she would be here!” Athena insists, voice rising. “Everybody breaks their promises but not April. She would never make a promise to me and then break it. So, why isn’t she here? It means something bad happened!”

“What’s going on out here?” my mother asks, coming up behind me. “Athena V, are you still behind that couch? What’s so interesting back there?” 

“Nothing,” she says, turning around to direct her gaze back out the window. 

“What are you looking at?” 

“I’m watching.”

“For what?” my mom presses. 

“The nanny, I’m guessing,” Maggie says, joining in. My sister looks to me with a disapproving look, continuing with, “She’s too attached, Jackson. She’s obsessed with that nanny. Don’t you think that’s unhealthy?” 

“They’re close,” I say. “It’s not unhealthy. Please, don’t make this a thing. Not today.” 

“I want you to call April!” Athena demands, turning to stand up and stomp one foot. 

“Hey, don’t-” 

“Hi! Sorry, I’m late!” I hear as the front door comes open. April blusters in, breathless and holding a big present, hair coming out of a bun that was probably once tight as she’s dressed in a suit. A suit from The Grand Luxe, no less.

“April!” Athena shouts, pushing her way past us to get to her nanny. She throws her arms around April’s waist and doesn’t let go, and April picks her up after a moment to balance her on her hip. “You came.” 

“I told you I’d be here, didn’t I?” April says, still trying to catch her breath. “My shift got extended because the girl scheduled after me called in sick. I had to take over before someone else could get there. And because of that, I didn’t have time to change and I had to run here! But luckily, I brought a change of clothes.” 

“Good,” Athena says, running the lapel of April’s suit between her first two fingers. “‘Cause this outfit is kinda weird.” 

April laughs and drops a kiss to my daughter’s cheek like it’s nothing. “Weird, huh?” she says. “You know what’s not weird? This dress you have on! It’s gorgeous. You look beautiful. Happy birthday, big girl.” 

She sets her on the ground and Athena says, “Thanks,” after taking the large gift and placing it with the others. 

“So sorry I’m late,” April says, looking at the three of us standing around. “Hi.”

“Hey,” I say. “No worries.”

“Yes worries!” Athena chimes in. “I thought something bad happened to you.” 

“Oh, no, no, no,” April says, cupping Athena’s chin with one hand. “Nothing bad happened to me. And nothing will.”

“Promise?” 

“Yes, promise.” 

Athena then glues herself to April’s side as I say, “Guys, you all remember April…” I clear my throat. “Athena’s nanny.” 

“Yeah…” Maggie says. “Her nanny, right. And that’s all she is?” 

“She also plays the piano very, very good,” Athena says, sticking up for her favorite person. “She teaches me. She’s my best teacher.” 

“How nice,” my mom says. 

April smiles. “Nice to see you all again,” she says, then laughs. “Uh, is Rich here, too?” 

“Right,” I say. “You know my dad. She works at The Grand Luxe,” I say, gesturing towards the brand on her suit

“Wait, you’re telling me  _ this _ is the April my husband goes on and on about?” Mom says, rolling her eyes lightheartedly. “Jesus, you have both my boys wrapped around your finger, so it seems.” 

“What’s that mean?” Athena asks, piping up.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, patting her shoulder. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Maggie echoes.

“Is that April I hear?” Dad asks boisterously as he makes his way into the room. “I’d know that voice anywhere. Hey, honey!” He envelopes her in a big hug and claps her on the back. “You know this is a casual event, right? You could’ve left the suit at home.”

“She was caught up at  _ your _ restaurant,” Mom says. 

“So her being late is your fault, Grandpa!” Athena says. “Say you’re sorry.” 

Dad chuckles. “I’m sorry, April, I had no idea. I’m glad you’re here now. We all are, I’m sure.” 

“We are, we are!” Athena cheers. “Can we do cake now? Please, please, please?” 

Everyone agrees, so me and my dad retreat into the kitchen to bring it out. I hear Athena campaigning to sit on April’s lap; I can’t help but wonder what Maggie must think about that, but I try to put it out of my mind. “You know what’s funny,” Dad says. “I’ve mentioned you to April in the past. Before I even knew who she was, I tried to set her up with you.” 

“I know,” I say, setting the cake on the center island. “She told me.”

“You two are great for each other,” he says. “You know I have the eye for it.” I nod and roll my eyes. “Really though, your mother has told me a lot. Well, what she knows, at least. I know you and April have something going on, whatever it might be. And I need to tell you two things.” I look up to acknowledge him. “Don’t hurt her,” he says, then blinks solemnly. “And do not hurt your daughter.” 

“I know,” I say. “I don’t plan on it.” 

“Good.” 

We light the candles and dim the lights, then make our way to the dining room where everyone sits around the table. Everyone joins in singing ‘happy birthday,’ and Athena grins like I’ve never seen her do before perched on April’s lap, face illuminated as she presses her small hands together. When she leans forward to blow the candles out, April holds her hair back and everyone cheers. “What’d you wish for, baby?” I ask her. 

She leans her head on April’s shoulder and throws an arm over the other one. “I can’t tell you or it won’t come true, daddy,” she says. 

“Oh,” I say. “Of course. My bad. Sorry.” 

We all eat cake exchanging light conversation, and towards the end, Athena and April start whispering to each other. When they stop, April sits up straight and my daughter hops off her lap. “We’ve been preparing something this week,” April says. “A special song to play for everyone.” 

“Both of us, together!” Athena says.

“Yep,” April says. “So, if you don’t mind, we’d like to play it for you now.” 

“Of course,” Mom says.

I watch my girlfriend and my daughter sit at the piano together, giving each other knowing looks. “This is called Andante and Variations in G Major by Mozart,” Athena says. “And we’re really, really good at it. So, just listen!”

We all become enraptured by the sound coming from the instrument that laid dormant for so long as soon as it starts. No matter how many times I watch Athena play music that was her mother’s life, it doesn’t stop being amazing. This is exactly what Myla wanted for her, music running through her veins, and when I see our daughter’s face light up as she listens to what she creates, I can’t help but feel that it’s a bit of Myla in her blood.

Everyone else at the table is hypnotized, too. They’ve never heard Athena play before, nor seen her this carefree and joyful. Right now, she’s just a child. A prodigy, but a child. Her face isn’t sodden with grief, her shoulders are light, the way she carries herself is completely different - and April had everything to do with it. 

When they finish, we all stand and applaud. They both beam proudly, happy with what they’ve done, and Athena runs to me for a big hug. “My talented little birthday girl!” I say, squeezing her. 

“That was amazing,” Maggie says reverently, her voice serious. “Really… I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

“She’s a little genius,” April says demurely, giving all the credit to the girl on my lap. 

“Well,” Maggie says. “I think you probably had something to do with it, didn’t you?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” April says, brushing it off. “Athena is the amazing one between us.” 

Maggie studies April for a while, then nods towards the kitchen. “Can I talk to you?” she asks. “Just us.” 

“Sure,” April says, then shoots me a quick, subtle look before following my sister. 

I don’t know what words they exchange in the other room, but they both come out smiling and nodding, curtailing the topic. I don’t ask and neither of them bring it up - I decide it’s not the right time. I’ll get the details from April later. For now, though, everyone can enjoy each other’s company until the night is over. 

…

When my family leaves, Maggie surprises me by giving April a hug. I watch the interaction, paired with hushed words, and smile to myself. That’s one less thing I have to worry about and it’s a huge relief, a weight off my back. 

“Thanks for coming!” I say, calling after everyone as they leave. 

April lingers at the door after it’s shut, then says, “I’ll help you clean up.” 

I don’t bother refuting her; I want her around as much as she wants to stay. So, I lead the way back into the house where Athena is lying on her stomach on the living room rug, looking through her presents. I watch her for a moment, wondering how in the world she got to be 8 years old, and feel April’s hand swipe along the small of my back. “Go be with her,” she whispers. “I’ll clean up.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, and she nods. Then, paired with the sound of the running water from the sink, April turns on some music. Right away, I recognize Vincent by Don McLean, and there’s only one thing I want to do. “Thena,” I say, catching her attention. “You wanna dance with your daddy on your birthday?” She blinks up at me, those big eyes round and sleepy, and I extend my arms. She stands and I lift her up, hands laced together under her thighs to support her, and she rests her head on my shoulder. Her arms are light as they’re strewn over my shoulders, and she smells sweet - like all the candy she ate today. I haven’t held her like this in a long, long time - maybe since she was a baby - so, I close my eyes to soak it in. 

_ Starry, starry night… flaming flowers that brightly blaze, swirling clouds and violet haze, reflecting Vincent’s eyes of China blue… colors changing hue… morning fields of amber grain, weathered faces lined in pain, are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand. Now, I understand… what you tried to say to me. And how you suffered for your sanity, and how you tried to set them free. They would not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps, they’ll listen now.  _

“It’s a pretty song,” she murmurs, so soft. “But it makes me feel sad.” 

“I know,” I say, cheek against her forehead.

“Why does it do that?”

I shake my head a bit. “I’m not sure,” I say. “But you know who loved this song?” She blinks, waiting for me to tell her. “Your mama.” 

“She did?”

I nod. “And you know what,” I say, feeling her run the fabric of my shirt through her fingers. “I think she was watching you today. Looking down on you, wondering how that little baby of hers got to be so big. I think she was right over your shoulder, whispering ‘happy birthday’ in your ear.”

She nods slowly, drifting to sleep. “I think that, too,” she breathes. 

A while later, I bring my baby upstairs and help her into pajamas, then lay her down with a kiss. I linger at her bedside and watch her for a moment, stroking her cheek as I think of birthdays past and all the ones to come. I don’t know what kind of life Athena will lead or what kind of person she’ll turn into, but I can’t wait to find out. 

I go back downstairs and find April on the couch in the front room, looking exhausted but content. “Hey, babe,” I say, sitting next to her.

She leans against my shoulder instantly, resting all of her weight there. I wrap an arm around her and kiss the top of her head, smiling. “Hey,” she says. “Good day?” 

“Great day,” I say, rubbing my thumb in circles. “How about you?” 

“Really good,” she says. 

“You spent a whole day around my family and no blood was shed,” I say. “That’s impressive.”She nudges me roughly, slapping my stomach with an open hand. “Really, though,” I continue. “What did my sister say to you in the kitchen?” 

“Oh,” April says, sitting up. “It was really nice, actually. She said the change in Athena was so obvious and so great to see. She said she hadn’t seen her smile like that in forever, and she thanked me for being the one to bring it out of her. She apologized, too, for how she acted before. I mean, I can understand why she did. She loved Myla. She doesn’t want Athena to forget her mom; she feels defensive over that. I told her there was no way I would ever let that happen, that we talk about Myla all the time, me and Thena. And that I lost my mom too. Then, she gave me a hug.”

“Oh, good,” I say, tucking hair behind her ear. “That’s great.” 

“Mm-hmm,” she says, then kisses me softly. After our lips part, our foreheads stay pressed together, though. 

“Stay tonight,” I say out of the blue. “Stay here.” 

“What?” she says. 

“Sleep with me,” I say. “We can set the alarm early and you can leave before Thena’s even up.” I caress her cheek with the back of my knuckles, admiring her soft beauty as I always do. “I just want you here,” I say. “I don’t want you to leave tonight.” 

With a smile, she agrees wholeheartedly. “Okay,” she breathes, kissing me again. 

She doesn’t have pajamas of her own, so when I find April’s body in bed, she’s dressed in a pair of my old boxers and a purple T-shirt from college. “Where are you under all these clothes,” I say playfully, kissing her neck. 

“They smell like you,” she says, tilting her head to one side so I have leeway to more skin. “I like it.”

“It’s just hair product,” I mimic, copying her line from before. 

“Shut up,” she says, lifting her body to straddle my stomach. “You have no hair.”

“Hey,” I say. “There’s some up there.” 

“Barely,” she teases, ridding me of my shirt. My shorts come next, and soon we’re both naked pressed against each other, kissing until we run out of breath. I love the way her lithe fingers feel framing my face, how her lips feel against mine, tongue tracing my bottom row of teeth as she breathes hotly onto my skin. Of their own accord, her hips begin to scoop against mine and it doesn’t take long for my half-erection to grow into something fully-fledged. “Can we?” she sighs. 

“God, of course,” I say, watching as she sits up. I skim my hands over the smooth dips in her sides, then map them over her belly. 

“Where do you keep the condoms?” she asks. “We didn’t use one last time, and I don’t really wanna make that a thing.”

“Drawer,” I say, then smack her ass as she lifts off to reach them. 

After the condom is on, she sinks onto my length and braces her hands on my chest, arching her back with feeling. “Oh, fuck,” she moans, and I get a firm grip on her breasts. “Jesus, you’re big.” 

I can’t help but feel a boost of confidence hearing that. “You like it, baby?” 

“Uh-huh,” she groans, undulating her hips in a way that drives me crazy. 

We don’t rush this time, though. It isn’t hurried or sloppy - every move is thought-out and refined. Soon, she removes my hands from her chest and intertwines our fingers, pinning me down with my arms on either side of my head. She tucks her face into my neck and bites softly, licking the spots after she leaves them. And after that, she curves her back further and gets her mouth on my nipples, sucking so hard that a shock reverberates through my system all the way to the coiled feeling in my groin. 

When I feel that she’s close, I unlace one of our hands and reach between us to rub her clit. The movement of her hips comes slower, more disjointed, and she can barely keep her eyes open as the feeling begins. “Shit,” she breathes, widening her knees so I can hit it deeper. “Shit!” 

I can’t last with her looking and sounding the way she does, so I shoot off inside her and watch her unravel only seconds later. As her muscles still twitch, she goes boneless and collapses on top of me, head over my hammering heart, and I drag my fingernails softly down her back to soothe her. The top of her head is sweaty, but I pay it no mind as I drop a kiss to her hair and let it linger. 

“You are so…” she says, but loses her words halfway through. 

“So are you,” I say, swiping wispy, damp hair from the back of her neck so I can stroke her there, too. 

“Oh, god,” she sighs, rolling off while keeping one arm and one leg around me. She kisses my shoulder and I pull the covers up, winding an arm around her body to keep her as close as possible. 

It dawns on me as I’m drifting off to sleep that we didn’t set the alarm. I tell myself to open my eyes and do it, but my arms won’t cooperate. I’m so comfortable with April’s small form so close, radiating heat, that the last thing I want to do is move. 

But then, I hear soft, shuffling footsteps in the back of my mind. And after that, there’s a gentle, sleep-slurred voice in the doorway that murmurs, “Daddy? Is that Mommy in bed with you?” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem in this chapter is largely inspired by one showcased in the movie 'A Kindergarten Teacher' !! All credit where credit is due :)

**APRIL**

My entire body freezes; I don’t move a muscle. Even if I were capable, I wouldn’t. I stay completely still, watching Jackson’s face with wide eyes, wondering what he’ll say. Wondering what he possibly  _ could _ say. I have no idea where to go from here. My heart is pounding and every second that passes lasts an hour.

“Um,” he stammers, sitting up. “Yeah.” 

My face screws up in confusion, mouth gaping. I smack him in the side just as Athena asks, “It is? Really?” 

“I mean, no,” he amends, running a palm down his face. “No, baby, no. It’s not Mommy.” 

“Then who is it?” she asks. “I know it’s someone. I see someone in there with you.”

Seeing no other way out, I decide to take the plunge and sit up, too, holding the covers against my chest. I look her in the eyes and she stares back with fire in hers, fire laced with ice-cold confusion. “Athena, please listen,” I begin, but she doesn’t let me finish. 

“April?” she says, voice holding raw emotion and energy. “Daddy, what is my April doing in your bed with you?”

“Baby, calm down,” he says. “I need you to listen to me. Sometimes, adults do things that kids don’t understand-”

“Why are you naked?” she shrills, eyes darting between us as her chest heaves with exertion. “You’re not wearing anything! Why?” 

“Athena,” Jackson says. “Quiet down and listen. Daddy has been lonely for a very long time, and April-”

“You have me!” she says. “You aren’t lonely, you have me. She can’t sleep in your bed!” Then, she looks to me. “You have your own house and your own bed. Why aren’t you there? Why are you here?” 

“Hey,” Jackson cuts in. “Don’t use that tone of voice with her.”

“You’re not her boss!” Athena says. “She’s  _ my _ April. You’re stealing her! You always take everything from me. I don’t have a single person. I had April but now you took her.”

“He didn’t take me,” I cut in. “Thena, we can be just as close as we were before.”

“No, we can’t,” she says, crying now. “I don’t want you anymore. I don’t want you now because Daddy has you.” She bunches her fists and starts to shake, which is something I’ve never seen her do. “You’re sleeping where my mommy used to sleep. I know that was her spot.” 

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Jackson says.

“Yes, I do,” I say. “She’s confused, I-” 

“I’m not confused!” Athena shouts. “You won’t be my mommy no matter what you do or where you sleep! No matter if you’re naked with my daddy or love me or play the piano! You’re not my mommy! I don’t want you!” 

My heart sinks hearing that and my chin instantly begins to tremble. I look away and let the first tear slip out, rolling down my cheek to disappear under my jaw. “Athena,” Jackson says. “You don’t mean all that. Stop it. We can explain, we can talk through this.” 

“I don’t want to hear a single thing you say,” she says, shoving the open door so it slams against the wall. “I wished on my candles for Mommy to come back and I got this instead. I got this instead!”

She turns on her heel and storms out of the room, and Jackson gets up to follow after putting clothes on. I gather what I had on before I donned his pajamas, then bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t start sobbing. I leave the room in the direction of the stairs and see Athena has locked herself in her bedroom. “Thena,” Jackson says, crouched at the door. “Open up. Let’s just talk.” 

“No,” I hear through the door. “No way. Leave me alone forever.” 

I cap a hand over the banister and look over my shoulder, heart splintering. “Jackson, I should go,” I say, voice cracking. 

“I… yeah,” he says, then sees that I’m crying. “Hey,” he says, jiggling Athena’s locked door handle once more before walking to me. “Hey, no, don’t cry… baby, don’t cry.” 

“Don’t worry about me,” I say, wiping insistently at my face. “Worry about her. She needs you. This shouldn’t have… this was wrong. She shouldn’t have seen that.” 

“I can explain it to her,” he says. “We can get over this.” 

I shake my head. “No,” I say. “We hurt her. I really hurt her, Jackson, and I don’t feel good about it. I can’t stay.” 

“Okay,” he says unsurely. “Okay… see you tomorrow, then? Monday pickup?” 

My features crumple as I shake my head yet again, tears falling more rapidly now. “No,” I say, the word wobbling as it comes out. “I don’t think so.” 

“April, what?” he says incredulously. “What the hell do you mean, no?” 

“She doesn’t want me,” I say. “I wouldn’t, either, if I had to find out what she found out in the way she did.” 

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” he says. “She’s 7.” He close his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “8. I mean 8. She’ll warm up to it.” 

“She shouldn’t have to,” I say. “You need to put her first. Go talk to her. I don’t want you to worry about me, and she doesn’t either. I just have to go. Right now.”

“I don’t want you to,” he says, desperate and sad. “I don’t want you to go. April, Jesus, please don’t do this. We were just talking about how much you’ve changed her. And not only her, you’ve changed me, too. I’m so much happier with you around. Please, put some thought into this. Don’t just walk away.” 

“I have to,” I say. “I can’t stay knowing that I’m hurting her. I just can’t.” 

“April,” he says.

“No,” I reply, heading down the stairs. 

“April,” he calls after me, but I don’t turn around. I slip my feet into my shoes, zip up my coat, then leave out the front door with tears running down my face. I wait on the sidewalk for an Uber, and once I’m inside I double over and cry into my open palms. It’s all over. 

…

Lying in bed the next morning, the first person I want to talk to is Jackson. I don’t have any missed calls or texts from him, though, so it seems he’s taking what I said seriously. I can’t tell if that’s what I want him to do or if I want the complete opposite. At the moment, neither make sense and the inside of my mind is an unhappy, awful place to be. But unfortunately, I can’t get away from it. 

If I can’t talk to Jackson, though, the next person I want to talk to is Steph. She seems even further away, though, even more untouchable. I don’t even know where I’d begin with her. Once again, I’d just be running to her with my own problems instead of addressing the ones she’s dealing with. So, she’s off the table. I can’t think about her because I’ll only get sadder. I don’t know what will fix our disjointed friendship or if anything can at this point. I’ve never felt more like an island. 

I call off work at The Grand Luxe, giving up the brunch shift that I desperately need the money for. I don’t care, though. I took one look in the mirror after waking up and knew that there was no way I could look presentable by 10. My hair is a wreck, there are dark blue bags under my eyes, and my face is swollen from crying. I’m a mess - looking on the outside like I feel on the inside. So, I retire to bed and continue to cry even after I run out of tissues and energy. Somehow, the tears still come.

Around midday, I pull out the notebook that Jackson gave me what feels like forever ago. I flip through the pages, coming across ‘Honey - Kehlani’ that I wrote in loopy script and doodled by when I was first swept up in him. He came to see me sing and I handed my heart over that night. I turn the page quickly to get away from it, to see ‘Vincent - Don McLean,’ and that only reminds me of Athena. The sweet sadness of the song is an encapsulation of her heart - at least, the way I see it. And I just made it all the more blue. 

I turn the song on and lie on my back, tears slipping into my ears. I sit up after it’s finished and rest my pen against the paper, pausing long enough to create an inkblot. Then, I do something I haven’t in months, since the day Izzie left me. I write something original. Maybe not a song, but a verse. 

_ Violet, get up. _

_ Remember, _

_ loneliness is still time spent _

_ with the world. _

_ Here is the room with everyone in it, _

_ her old notes passing through your fingers _

_ like wind through a wind chime. _

_ Don’t be afraid, Violet, _

_ the end of the road is still so far ahead; _

_ it is already behind us. _

I don’t know what it means and I don’t know what I meant by it, but when I’m finished all I can do is stare. I trace the shapes of the letters with one finger, only slightly smudging then pen as it dries, and sniffle. I picture Athena’s face as I read the words again, smiling after learning a new song. Who will teach her now? Will she keep playing or will she give it up out of pure obstinance? Even though I propelled the idea, I don’t like the image of her sitting alongside a different teacher on the bench. I don’t want someone else to take that spot, someone more talented and skilled than I am. It doesn’t seem right. They don’t know her like I do. They won’t love her like I do. 

But I have to give her up. I have to give both of them up, so they don’t have to do the same for each other. I won’t step in and put my heart above a child’s or her father’s. The two of them need each other and will for the rest of their lives. They lost someone whom I never met or knew, and it’s not my place to govern how they move on. For a while, I thought I was helping. Maybe, I was. But as soon as that changed - and it very much did - their home was no longer mine to share.

…

Though I don’t go to work that day, when nightfall comes and I’m still in my pajamas, I’m rotting from the inside out. There’s a tight feeling in my chest that I know being at The Whistler can make disappear, so I force myself to sit up and put together a small set list. I can only hope there’s a spot open, but even if there isn’t, listening should be enough. I just can’t lay here and stare at these four walls anymore.

I make an effort and put on my faux leather leggings with a sequined shirt, then spend time in the mirror putting on makeup and curling my hair. I sit on the closed toilet lid once I’m all put together, elbows on my knees, and soak in the silence of the apartment. I miss getting ready with Steph and singing the songs we were about to perform, I miss laughing my ass off with her; I miss everything in general. I want my best friend back, but I have no idea how to make it happen. At least, not right now.

I don’t let myself sit for long before slipping on my ankle boots and heading out the door. I don’t allow my mind to wander before arriving at the bar, and when I do, Owen greets me with open arms. “Baby!” he cheers, wrapping me in a tight hug. “Good god, it’s been fuckin’ years. Where have you been? You look skinny. Tonight, I’m making you a burger.” 

“Okay,” I say, smiling weakly. 

“A huge one. With everything on it.” 

“Alright,” I say.

“I cleared you a spot,” he says. “Soon as I saw that face. You’re up in five.” 

“Thanks, Owen,” I say. “I really need it.”

“I know, honey,” he says, squeezing my wrist a few times. “Go show us your heart.”

As I wait backstage, thoughts that haven’t been in my mind for ages make themselves known. It’s not unheard of for indie record labels to come watch performers here - there have even been rumors about a few people being signed in the past. Stories like that are what made me start frequenting this place, but I haven’t had the same luck myself. But maybe, since everything else is so awful, I deserve to have some part of the universe on my side. It’s a lot to wish for, but it doesn’t hurt to dream. The constructs of reality haven’t stopped me before. 

“You know her, you love her - please welcome, the one we raised all on our own, April Skye!”

I smile softly under the lights tonight instead of big and brash. My vibrant personality doesn’t shine because my heart isn’t quite in its normal place, but I hope that I can still give a worthwhile performance. “Hi,” I say, leaning into the mic. “It’s good to see you guys. I know it’s been a while.” 

“We missed you!” someone shouts from the audience. 

I giggle a little. “Missed you, too,” I say. “Tonight, I’m gonna sing three songs. The first is When I Look At You by Miley Cyrus.” I force my lips to pull up a smile, though I don’t quite mean it. I wait for the intro to pass, then take a deep breath before starting. “ _ Everybody needs inspiration… everybody needs a song, a beautiful melody when the night’s so long. ‘Cause there is no guarantee that this life is easy… yeah, when my world is falling apart, when there’s no light to break up the dark that’s when I… I… I look at you. _ ” I furrow my eyebrows and do my best to ignore the lump in my throat. I try to inhale for the next verse, but the breath comes short and I can’t quite reach the note. Instead, with red cheeks, I shake my head and mutter, “I’m sorry,” before rushing off the stage wiping at my eyes. I shouldn’t have come tonight. I wasn’t ready. 

“Honey!” Owen says, catching my attention as I make my way to the door.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” I say, sniffling. “Next time, I promise.” 

“Forget about the burger,” he says. “I have someone asking for you.” 

I look up and brush my hair out of my eyes, feeling so wounded already. The first place my mind jumps is Jackson, and I don’t know if I really want it to be him or if I really, really don’t. “Who?” I ask. 

He nods down the bar and I see the back of a blonde ponytail. Almost on cue, Izzie turns around wearing a soft expression, but I stay rooted in place. “Hey,” she says. “Before you say anything, I’m not stalking you.”

“And that’s my cue,” Owen says, disappearing.

“I’ve been coming here lately,” she says. “I knew that you used to sing here, but I didn’t know if you did anymore. I didn’t come here for you. You just… happened to be here.” 

“And you just happened to be here,” I say, blinking hard to force the tears away.

“Can we talk?” she asks. 

I sigh, shoulders deflating. “I don’t know,” I say.

“It won’t be like last time,” she says. “I want to apologize for that.” 

“Well, it wasn’t just you,” I grumble, still standing. 

“I want to smooth things over,” she says. “We haven’t been able to do that yet and it doesn’t feel right. I think that’s why I still think about you so much.” 

I frown. “You think about me?” 

“I already told you that,” she says. “You said the same thing.” 

I nod. I guess I did say that. But after everything that’s happened with Jackson and Athena, she hasn’t been on the forefront of my mind at all. I wouldn’t have guessed she’d be so easy to forget when something else bigger came up. “Okay,” I say. “Sure. Let’s talk. Owen,” I say, finding a barstool. “Can I have that burger now?” 

When it comes, I cut it and give one half to Izzie, who shares the plate with me. “You sounded great up there,” she says, chewing. “Why’d you stop the song?” 

“Uh, because I looked like an ass?” I say. “I started crying in the middle of it.” 

“Why?”

“I’m kind of going through it right now,” I say, keeping a bite of burger in the pocket of one cheek.

“Going through what?”

I plunk an elbow down on the bar and gesture with the burger I have left. “You name it. How I feel about you. How Steph feels about me. Leaving Jackson. Breaking his daughter’s heart. The list goes on and on.”

“Christ,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. 

“Well…” she begins. “If it helps, I am sorry for kissing you in Starbucks. Or perpetuating it, or… or whatever I did. It shouldn’t have happened. We’re done, me and you.” 

“Yeah,” I say. “I know. I’m sorry, too. I already talked to Jackson about it.”

“You did?”

I nod. “We talked about the virginity thing, too. And what it means for me being bi. I don’t think I’m that secure yet, but he was cool about it.” My nose tingles and I press my eyes shut tight. Thinking about him only makes me sad, because I can’t help but remember the naked conversation we had on the couch. It was so intimate, being with him.

“I’m glad,” Izzie says. “Because, well, me and Leah, we broke up over it.” 

“Your girlfriend?” I ask, eyes wide. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Because we talked about it, too. And I was honest… I was honest when I told her that I’m not over you and I still have feelings left. She went through my phone and saw that your contact name was ‘Baby A’ and really didn’t like that. It turned into this whole huge argument and… yeah, it’s probably a good thing. I’ll find someone better.” 

“I’m sorry,” I say. 

“Yeah,” she says. “I don’t know. It wasn’t that serious.”

“Okay,” I say. “You know, I’m still confused, too. I still have a lot of feelings. I remember all that great stuff that we did, all these amazing things you made me feel. I really loved you, Iz. I actually probably still love you, but I’m not  _ in _ love with you, if that makes sense.” I shake my head. “I’ve been trying to make sense of it myself.” 

“No, of course you’re not in love with me,” she says, softly smiling. “You’re in love with him.” 

“Him?” I repeat, blinking incredulously. “Him, you mean Jackson?” She nods. “No. We never even said ‘I love you.’”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “You’re conveniently forgetting that I know what you look like when you’re in love. And you have that look about you now. You’re broken over him, you want him back. He made you happy, that’s obvious. You’re in love.”

Now, I plant both elbows on the bar and rest my face in my hands. “I don’t know,” I say. “Why does it even matter? Everything is ruined anyway. His daughter found us in bed and had a fit. I’m really close with her, she’s so important to me… and she was upset because she thought I was trying to replace her mom. Her mom who’s dead.”

“Oh,” Izzie says.    


“Yeah,” I say. “And I know how that feels. It feels like shit, watching the rest of the world move on. It’s like, you can’t understand how life can continue so easily when you’ve lost someone so big. I didn’t wanna be the person who breaks her heart. That’s why I left.” 

“You left?” she says. “What? Why?”

“I just said,” I say. “I don’t want to make it seem like I’m filling a void.”

“But you are,” she says. “You’re not replacing her mom, but you are filling a void. I can only imagine how much you’ve done. You’re great with kids. My nieces still talk about you.” 

“I don’t know,” I say sadly. “That’s why I started crying in the song. I miss them both so much. I really wanted it to work, but I don’t want to hurt them. Hurt her, I mean.” 

She thinks for a long moment while eating a few fries. “You know who would know something about how to treat a little girl who lost her mother?” she asks. I shake my head and she points a fry at me. “Your dad.” 

“My dad?” I say, eyebrows up. “I… I don’t know about that.” 

“What, you think he didn’t deal with his fair share of hardships when you were little?” she says. “From the stories you told me, you weren’t exactly a walk in the park.” 

“No, no, he did… I…” I sigh. “He just doesn’t know about… them. That I was a nanny, or that I sing here or play the piano at The Grand Luxe.” I close my eyes with shame. “I told him I work in a hospital.” 

“Oh,” she says. “Why?” 

“Because,” I say emphatically. “That’s what he wanted me to do. And he always said my mom would be so proud of me if she were here, and…” 

“Don’t you think she’d be proud of you now?” Izzie says. “You made a life for yourself. You get up in front of people and perform every day. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you take care of others…” She takes my hand benignly, like a friend. Like someone who knows me and knows my heart. “I think she’d be pretty damn proud.” I look up from our hands and meet her eyes, mine watering with emotion again. “You should tell him the truth,” she says seriously, stroking my skin. “I think he deserves to know.” 

…

“Sugar!” 

The hug my dad gives me is nearly suffocating when I show up the following Saturday morning. I’d called in the middle of the week and asked to see him and he jumped at the chance. It’s been too long, I admit, and seeing him is always a comfort. “Hi, daddy,” I say, closing my eyes to breathe in his familiar scent.

“Come in, come in, little one,” he says, ushering me inside before closing the door. “You’re gorgeous. You are absolutely gorgeous. I hope you’re hungry, because I’m starved. Let’s eat.” 

“Alright,” I say, smiling as I follow him. 

“How’ve you been?” he asks, opening the fridge. “You haven’t called in a while, so I’m guessing you’ve been busy. Very busy! I bet they work you hard at the hospital, don’t they?”

I widen my eyes and blink hard, staring at the granite countertop under my hands. I hadn’t expected to launch into everything right off the bat, but he hasn’t given me much choice. “Uh, dad,” I say. 

“Uh-oh,” he chuckles. “That’s a scary tone. What’s up?” He turns around with a blanched expression. “Are you pregnant?” 

“I’m not - no, dad,” I say, waving one hand. “I came to talk in person because… well, it’s serious. And I’m hoping you’ll hear me out after I tell you the first thing.” 

“You’re scaring me, sugar.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say. “So, I’m just gonna say it. I don’t work at a hospital. I never did. I made it up.”

I close my eyes and wait for his reaction, which I’ve been dreading all day. He’s quiet at first, but his eyes soon turn confused. “You don’t?” he asks, setting the bag of lunch meat down. “Why would you… why’d you lie?” 

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “Because you paid for my degree, daddy. It’s what you really wanted me to do. But I just can’t. It’s not me. I worked my ass off in school and thought I could fake my way through a career, but I couldn’t. I tried, but I failed.”

I rest my face in my hands and start to cry for probably the millionth time that week. A few seconds later, I hear footsteps and feel his hand on my back, right in the middle. “You didn’t fail, sugar,” he says. “I wish you hadn’t lied to me, but you didn’t fail.” 

I lift up and don’t bother to wipe the moisture off my face. “I did, though,” I sob. “I disappointed you and I know it would disappoint Mom. You’ve always told me how proud she’d be, and I wasn’t even doing what I said I was. I’m awful.” 

“Hey,” he says, thumbing my tears away. “You are not awful. I don’t want to hear you say that and she wouldn’t, either. She would’ve had a damn fit.” I smile weakly and he holds the side of my face with one hand. “You know something,” he says. “We have about two hundred videos of you as a baby. All down in the basement somewhere, in a box. Each one labeled with the date and year, how old you were, all the details. So, you watch these videos and expect to see something special, right, like your first steps. Your first word. Your first day of school.” I nod and he smiles. “But no. You pop in a tape and it’s just you - this fat little baby - sitting on the living room floor with a plastic spoon in your mouth. Staring at nothing. Hair a mess. Pop in another one, there you are in the high chair, spaghetti on your face, eating dinner. Another one, there you are drawing about ten thousand circles with a blue crayon.” He touches my chin and meets my eyes pointedly. “Your mother took those videos because she loved every single thing you did. Every damn breath, she was impressed. She was proud of you for waking up in the morning and made sure everyone knew it. So, no matter what you’re doing in this life of yours, she’s watching you and saying ‘that’s my baby.’ And she’s tapping the angels around her and saying, ‘did you see what my baby did? Do you see how amazing she is?’” He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s just the way she was. She loved you more than she knew what to do with. She’d be proud of you for any damn thing you’re doing, baby. Anything.” 

Through a hiccuping sob, I say, “I’m singing.”

“Singing?” he says, sitting next to me. “Is that right?” 

I nod. “And playing the piano at a restaurant.” 

“Playing piano,” he says, impressed. “Of course. Always my Mozart.”

“And I was a nanny,” I say. “To the most beautiful, complicated little girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” he says. “Why’s that one in past tense?” 

I take a deep breath and decide to tell him everything. I might as well; I’ll feel better after doing so. I want to be closer, to be more honest with him - he deserves it. He didn’t have to be so accepting to the lie I’ve been riding for months, he didn’t have to comfort me with the warm quilt of memories he crafted of Mom in just a few sentences. But he did, because he’s my dad. I don’t know what I would do without him. 

“I hurt her,” I say once the story comes to a close. “And that’s the last thing I wanted to do, but I don’t know how to fix it or if I even should.” I pause. “I miss them, though. I… I had something with him, with Jackson. I don’t want to give it up, but if it’ll break her heart in the process, I can’t go back. I don’t know what to do, daddy.”

He takes his time thinking over what I’ve said, letting the story ruminate before jumping to any conclusions. “When you were 7, right after it happened,” he says. “It was hard. A hard time for both of us in very different ways. We were both hurting, so we had a hard time connecting with each other. We both wanted her, that’s what it came down to, and we couldn’t have her.” His eyes are warm and his chin quivers - even after 17 years, her death still stings. “But you kept thinking you saw her around every corner. You ran up to every other red-haired woman and threw your arms around her, called her ‘mama.’ Scared the shit out of ‘em, I assume. That went on for about three solid months. I didn’t have the heart to stop you. At the time, I didn’t know what I could say to make it better.” He stops, sniffles, and regroups to keep going. “But around that same age, when your aunt Nicole tried to come help us, stay for a few weeks, you wouldn’t so much as look at her. You spewed those same horrible things Athena spewed at you - you couldn’t stand her presence. You thought she was coming to take your mom’s place, and you wouldn’t hear otherwise. You were bent on hating her, though just months before you loved her. You wanted that mother figure - the gravitation to every redhead in a thirty mile radius told me that - but when one came close, it scared you. Because what would happen if you started to love her? Would the feelings for your mom go away - the good and sad? How was there room in your heart for two?” 

“I love Aunt Nicole now, though,” I say. “I can’t remember when she first came.”

“You were young,” he says. “And that’s exactly my point. It took you a long time. You resented her for reasons you didn’t know how to put into words, but she was so patient with you. She had lost a sister, but rebuilding your heart was what mattered. Because, I think, in helping patch yours up, she was patching hers up, too.” He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, saying, “Maybe you and Athena aren’t so different, after all.” 

“Maybe not,” I say. “I just… I had no idea how similar we are, I guess.”

“If you want to stay in her life, you have to make the effort,” he says. “She’s the child. You’re the adult. Be honest. Tell her what role you play and what role you’ll always leave a space for. She might not understand now, but if you’re in it for the long haul, she will someday.” He gives me a hug and I let it linger, forehead resting on his shoulder. “Take a look at what you lost,” he says, patting my back. “And you didn’t turn out too bad, did you?” 

…

I have to pick up extra shifts at The Grand Luxe because of my low income, which means I’m sometimes here all day. Especially on weekends, when brunch and dinner hours are busier, my fingers are usually sore and cramping by the end of the night. 

Tonight, so far, is a night like any other. I’m sitting at the piano in the same stuffy suit, playing a variation of What A Wonderful World while getting lost in my head. I’ve let my dad’s advice simmer all week, mixing with what Izzie said, too. No one has contacted me and I haven’t contacted anyone, but the time alone hasn’t been detrimental. I think I actually might have needed it to get my brain back on track. I don’t know what my next move is yet, but I’ll figure it out eventually. 

I’m on autopilot when a familiar face catches my eye from across the room, and I come back into focus to see Jackson and Athena walking towards the best table - the one with a view, by the window. Rich is seating them; of course they’re here. I bet they come a lot, I just never noticed. My stomach sinks and I cement my eyes onto the ivories, determined not to look up and make myself known. 

I can’t resist, though. After I finish the song and move onto something I could play in my sleep, I steal a glance at their table to find them sitting in silence, not even looking at each other. Athena has her eyes out the window, legs swinging, and Jackson is studying the open menu open in front of him. I close my eyes and shake my head; the divide has grown back tenfold. Not only can I see it, I can feel it, too. 

But it’s not my business anymore, at least not right now. So, I take care of what is mine and continue to play the mood music, turning off my brain once again. I don’t know how long I zone out for, but I only come back when I hear a clatter and the sound of people panicking, which makes me stop playing and look up, eyebrows creasing. 

“Help!” someone shouts, and when I center on the action I see the exclamation came from Jackson. “My daughter,” he says desperately, and I notice Athena flat on the floor. 

I don’t take time to think. Instead, I get up so fast that the bench topples over and run across the room, pushing people out of the way as I go. “Excuse me,” I say, shouldering through to get where I need to be. “Excuse me!” 

“April,” Jackson says, shocked, once I arrive.

I look into his eyes and blink steadily, kneeling next to her. “I’m a nurse,” I say. “I’m trained, anyway. What happened?” 

“I called 911,” someone says. “They’ll be here in 10 minutes!”

“Nuts,” Jackson says. “I forgot to check the… I think there was some on the bread. She’s allergic. I don’t think she’s breathing, Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ, I don’t have the EpiPen. God damn it!” 

“Calm down,” I say, touching the pulse point on her neck with two fingers. It’s there, but weak. She’s not swollen yet, but he’s right - she isn’t breathing. “I need hand sanitizer, a sharp knife, and a ballpoint pen,” I say. “Now. Right now.” Out of thin air, I get handed the three things I need. While hovering over Athena’s small, slack body, I sanitize the knife as best I can, then locate where the incision needs to go. I’m no surgeon, but this is an emergency procedure that we were taught in nursing school - one of the first things, actually. I can’t count how many times I’ve practiced. My hands don’t shake and my precision doesn’t waver as I make the cut, though I do hear people gasp. After it’s made, I dismantle the pen and use the tube to stick inside her throat, and instantly, her chest inflates with air. “Good girl,” I say, and she opens her eyes. “Good, good, good girl,” I say, locking on her gaze. “Stay calm. It’s me. You’re gonna be just fine. The ambulance will be here in a second.” Her eyes are huge and scared, so I take her hand and hold tight. “Can you breathe?” I ask, and she nods. “Good. That’s all we need to worry about right now.” I lift my eyes from hers and look to Jackson, who’s silently crying. “She’s fine,” I say, then take his hand as firmly as I have hers. “She’s gonna be just fine.” 

…

After everything settles down, I’m wired in the waiting room at the hospital. It hadn’t been my idea to come with them, but he had insisted in little to no words and I had no choice. The doctors were going through procedures with Athena to prevent her from going into anaphylactic shock, and now I’m waiting for the all-clear to see her. 

Still in the suit from The Grand Luxe, I wring my hands as I pace back and forth through the rows of chairs. Logically, I know she’s fine. I did what I had to do in an emergency situation and primed her perfectly for the paramedics. But the irrational part of my brain, the caretaking part, needs to see her so I can prove as much. 

“Are you waiting for Athena Avery?” someone in scrubs asks. 

I lift my head quickly. “Yes,” I say. 

“She’s almost asleep, but you can go in and see her,” he says. “Down the hall and to your left.”

After bidding him a quick thank you, I follow the directions and hurry to Athena’s room. Once I reach the door, though, I slow my footsteps and stop to catch my breath before entering - it’s so quiet. I don’t want to disturb anything or anyone.

“Come in,” I hear Jackson say. “April, come in.” 

I pass through the entryway to see Athena lying on a hospital bed dressed in baby blue scrubs, hair tied away from her face, head lolled to one side. She’s looking at me with eyes glazed over, but a small smile on her face. There’s a patch of gauze on her throat and an IV in her arm, and when she blinks slow I can tell there’s some sort of calming sedative in her system. “Hi,” I say, relief coursing through me.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her voice comes roughly. “You…” she begins, holding her throat.  

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about talking,” I say. 

“Her voice will be fine, they said,” Jackson tells me gently. “It’s just sore.” 

“Of course,” I say, feeling strangely cordial. 

“A…” Athena says, urging out the best part of my name. I look over and she pats the bed next to her, asking a clear question with her eyes.

I look to Jackson for permission. “Do you mind…?” I ask. 

He shakes his head. “Of course not,” he says. Gingerly, I crawl in and cocoon her body with mine. She nestles against me, feeling smaller than ever, and falls asleep almost instantly. After she does, I turn my head to look at Jackson - I can feel his eyes on me. “She didn’t want me there, but she wants you,” he says. “Typical.” I laugh humorlessly, stroking Athena’s hair with one hand - rhythmic and repetitive so it will soothe her in sleep. “April,” he says after a period of silence. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” I say. “I’m just glad I was there.” 

“No, I do need to thank you,” he presses. “Because if you hadn’t…” He frowns deeply and clasps his hands together, letting out a sigh before amending his thought. “Just... thank you.”

“Of course.”

We spend a long time in silence, the three of us. Athena’s heart monitor beeps steadily and there’s the rise and fall of her restful breath, but that’s it. I don’t watch Jackson because I don’t want to seem obvious, but I’m dying to know what he’s thinking. I’m in danger of falling asleep myself when he speaks next, and it makes me jump because his voice comes so clear and strong out of nowhere.

“April,” he says, and I turn my head to meet his eyes. His are shiny, glazed over with what looks like tears. He inhales deeply and lets it out, never breaking eye contact. “We miss you.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**JACKSON**

I would never use the adjective ‘guarded’ to describe April. Even upon first meeting her, she was open, generous with personal information. But right now, as I look at her from across the hospital room, the expression in her eyes has its walls up. She’s wary and unsure, afraid to test the waters. Above everything - ‘guarded- is in fact the word I’d use to describe the way she looks right now.

“We do,” I continue, pushing the thought. “We miss you a lot.” 

Athena and I have barely survived without April in the house to brighten it. We go through the same routine every day - but silence now fills the space that fighting used to. Athena figured out how to play the ‘Classical Favorites’ CD on loop, and it plays morning, noon and night. She rises with an alarm and stands with a stony expression while I do her hair. She eats whatever breakfast I place in front of her and goes to the after-school program once school lets out, which is something I never wanted for her. She gets shoved to the side; there are too many kids for any of them to get individual attention. But without a nanny, I don’t have a choice. At the end of the day, I pick her up and order food, after which she gives herself a bath and goes to bed. Each day has been the same, and I don’t see an end in sight. Not without the redhead in front of me, at least.

“I… Jackson,” she says, defeated. “I know. I feel the same, but it’s just not that easy. The last thing I want is to hurt you. Either of you.” She takes a deep breath. “And when she walked in and saw what we were doing, saw me in Myla’s spot, that killed me. The way she reacted, it wasn’t good. I don’t like hurting her, or hurting anyone, and I know I did.” 

“What hurt the most was you leaving,” I say truthfully. “This week has been horrible. She’s taken so many steps back, she’s a shell of who she was with you. You were helping her blossom, and she’s wilting without you.” 

“She was so mad, though,” April says. “I thought the best thing I could do was get away and give you both space.” 

I shake my head. “We need you,” I say. “Something is missing without you.” 

She turns and looks at Athena’s sleeping face - my sweet daughter who looks even younger than her 8 years, dwarfed by the bed and the gown. As she lies cuddled against April, it’s clear what she wants and who she doesn’t plan on letting go of. Even in sleep, she gravitates towards her. “I miss you guys, too,” she says, stroking Athena’s hair off of her forehead. “All I could do was think about this little face. I didn’t want our last words to be in anger.” 

“No,” I say. 

“She’s so beautiful,” April whispers, pressing a soft kiss to Athena’s forehead. Then, she looks over her shoulder and locks eyes with me. “I missed you, too, you know,” she says. “I missed you a lot.” 

“I wanted to call or text,” I say. “But I didn’t know if that was what you wanted and I didn’t want to come on too strong. I wanted to give you time.” 

“And I wanted to give  _ you _ time,” she says. 

I chuckle a little. “Well, at least we were on the same page.”

“I talked to my dad for the first time in a while,” she says. “I told him everything. I hadn’t been telling him the truth about where I was working, but he knows now. And I talked to him about how the last thing I wanted was to seem like I was replacing Myla.” She pauses, still stroking Athena’s curls. “He talked to me about how I used to behave at her age, when I had just lost my mom. He helped me find the line between replacement and fulfillment.” 

“Good,” I say, hopeful. “That’s really good.” 

“It is,” she says. “And it was really nice to see him.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to step into Myla’s shoes, Jackson. I hope you know that. I know… no one could fill my mom’s place. That’s my mom, you know? No one else could ever be her. So, to imagine Athena thinking that I assumed I could waltz in and take over for Myla, that ripped me apart. Because I knew exactly how she felt. So,” she says. “I hope I can make it clear that’s not what I’m doing.” 

“So, you want to stay?” I ask. 

She blinks, expression pensive. “Being employed by you…” she begins. “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She meets my eyes with a storm in hers. “I have a lot of feelings for you, Jackson. Strong ones. So, I think coming back to work for you would be messy. I don’t think I can do it.” 

“Then don’t,” I say immediately. Her face morphs into confusion and a smile teases its way onto mine. “Don’t come back as the nanny. Come back as my girlfriend.”

She raises her eyebrows and inhales deeply, taking her time before answering. “I want to,” she says. “But I also want to make sure it’s the right decision.” 

“April, it is,” I say. 

“For us, yeah, it is,” she says, then gestures towards my daughter. “But I’ll only feel good once you talk to her about it. When she’s feeling better.” She sits up, legs hanging off the side of the bed as she faces me. “Will you do that?” 

I let out a long exhale, knowing she’s right. None of this will work if Athena doesn’t understand or if she isn’t on board. “Yeah,” I say. “Of course.” 

She hops off and sets her feet on the floor, directing them towards the door. “I’ll give you two some time,” she says, nodding towards the little sleeping figure. “Just be with her, okay? Do what feels natural. Your little girl is just fine, right here in front of you. She’s gonna be okay. Let her know how you feel. About everything.” 

“Okay,” I say as I walk her towards the exit. “Hey, wait.”

“What?” she says, turning around. 

Quickly, I grab her waist with one hand and cup her chin with the other, pulling her in to kiss her long and slow. She melts, lips molding against mine perfectly, and sighs as she relaxes fully. She winds her arms around my neck, tilts her head, and stands on her tiptoes to push even nearer. When we pull apart, sparkles dance in her eyes and I know for a fact that I will see her soon. This isn’t goodbye, though the kiss was almost good enough to warrant it. “Get home safe,” I tell her.

“I will,” she says, one hand in the middle of my chest. “Remember. Talk to her.”

“I’ll do that,” I say. “Thank you for everything, Kiwi.”

“Kiwi,” she repeats, blushing, She pulls away, wiggling her fingers to wave, then says, “Bye.” 

“Bye,” I say, then turn around and close the door to Athena’s small, quiet room. 

I sit in the same chair that I was in before, eyes on the bed. She’s fast asleep and I assume she’ll stay that way for a while. I have plenty to do; my phone is on the table, there’s a book in my bag along with documents from work, but I can’t tear my eyes away from my daughter. I can’t force myself to do anything but watch her sleep - there’s a certain calming quality about her that isn’t there when she’s awake.

When she left, April vacated a substantial part of the bed, and I can’t help but notice as I sit in the chair alongside it. I lean forward with my arms overlapping in the space, but in my heart I know it isn’t enough. April told me to do what feels natural, to give Athena the affection she wants. I’ve never been confident in doing that, though, because the potential refusal was too much to handle. She’s asleep now, though, and I want to be near her. And judging by the way she cuddled close to me a few nights ago, she wants it, too. 

So, I slip my shoes off and slide in as carefully as I can, avoiding the IV while jostling her as little as I can. She doesn’t wake, the sedatives make sure of that, but she lets out a long sigh after I get comfortable. I rest with my cheek on the top of her head and breathe slowly, my heart matching up with hers, and close my eyes. I don’t sleep, though - all I do is think.

I came close to losing her today, that fact continues to stare me in the face, resting on my shoulder like a demon. I’m acutely aware of Athena’s allergies, but my mind was elsewhere. It’s no excuse, of course, there’s no excuse for not being vigilant and forgetting to look for something that would harm her. She’s usually good about it, too, but maybe her thoughts were gone just like mine were. It happened in an instant, in the blink of an eye, and once it started there was no stopping it. April, quite literally, saved her life. If she hadn’t been there - sure, the ambulance would have arrived, but would it have been too late? Instead of lying next to my daughter as she sleeps, would I instead be grieving an empty bed?

I don’t let myself think about it for too long, though, because that didn’t happen. April was there. She knew what to do and she did it; that’s what matters. The unthinkable didn’t occur, I didn’t lose Athena and I never will. She’s right here, tucked close to my side, very much alive.

The prospect is terrifying, though, the thought of losing the last tie to Myla. Myla’s last tie to the living. The world would be wrong without a piece of her in it, without Athena’s heart, and I don’t know how I would begin to cope with that. I know for a fact that Myla wouldn’t have let this happen - April wouldn’t have, either. In short, a mother would have been more observant. Another pair of eyes would have done me some good in the moment, and probably more often than that, too. I’ve never looked at parenting as a partnership because I never got to experience such a thing, but the idea is tempting. Commiserating and double-teaming problems that sometimes, I can’t deal with on my own. As I think about an ideal companion in helping me raise Athena, only one pretty face comes to mind: April’s. 

Guilt does come along with it, though. My feelings for her are strong, that’s impossible to ignore, and Athena’s are, too. But strong feelings for a nanny from a child’s point of view are totally different than feelings for a mother. April made it clear she doesn’t want to replace Myla and I would never want that, either, but I’ve made room in my heart. Room enough for her. What I don’t know is if Athena will understand the presence of a new person in her life, in our house, who cares about both of us. Not a mother, but similar to one. It’s a difficult line to toe, but I’m sure with conversation and the right steps taken, we could navigate it together. I just need Athena to understand, too. 

Though it would defeat the purpose of worrying about replacement, I have a feeling Myla would know what to do in a situation like this. I knew her well for many years, so well that I swear I can hear her sometimes. Telling me not to eat something, to sleep in those five extra minutes, to take the long way home when Athena sings along with the radio. In that way and in many more, maybe April was right. There isn’t some great, big nothingness out there after someone dies. Maybe Myla is somewhere, watching Athena, watching me. It’s a thought I’ll have to spend a while getting used to, but I find myself with the desire to do so for the first time. 

“Is it silly to talk out loud to you?” I ask, and the sound of my voice makes me jump. It comes out too loud - almost as if it doesn’t make sense in this room. So, to fit the atmosphere, I lower to a whisper. “I don’t even know if you can hear me. I might look like an ass right now.” I laugh to myself. “Or maybe you  _ can _ hear me, and I look like an ass anyway.” 

Athena stirs, probably having heard my voice in the deep recesses of her brain. She doesn’t wake, though; she’s far from the surface. She presses her face to my chest and turns on her side, breathing with her mouth open. I kiss her head, lingering for a while, until I think of what else I want to say. What else there is  _ to _ say. It almost seems too much. 

“If you’re out there, I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner,” I say. “I don’t know why I didn’t. I was scared, maybe. I guess. I don’t know. But April - this woman I’m interested in - she told Athena that it would help her to talk to you. So, I suppose it couldn’t hurt me.” I adjust my legs and close my eyes, trying to conjure up a clear image of Myla. Surprisingly, it’s more difficult than I anticipated. I have plenty of photos, but they aren’t out anymore. To save Athena and myself the pain, I stored them away after she died. A small part of me thinks I should probably get a few of them back out. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not sure for what. For a lot. For everything I’ve done wrong with her.” I look at Athena’s soft face with the graceful features of her mother’s. “I know you wouldn’t have made all these mistakes.” I sigh and caress her cheek slowly, marveling her baby-smooth skin. “But you know, she’s still a great kid. She’s resilient, she’s smart, and she’s talented as hell. You probably already know she’s been playing the piano, doing exactly what you hoped she would. She really is your baby, Myla. I wish she’d gotten to know you. She would love you. She already does, but… you know what I mean. It would be different.” I can almost picture her nodding. “We miss you all the time,” I say. “I miss you in the weirdest moments - the moments when I need you. When Thena and I are fighting. When I don’t understand what’s going on in her head. When she just doesn’t make sense, that’s when I miss you the most. Because you’d know how to handle all that so much better than me.” I sigh. “So much better.” I skim a hand down Athena’s arm and hold her hand, running my thumb over four of her small fingers. “I see you in her, though,” I say. “Especially when she plays. She lights up like you did. It’s an amazing thing to watch. You must be so proud of her. I am.” I open my eyes and look at the ceiling almost as if I expect to see her there. I don’t, of course, but if I concentrate hard enough, her presence comes close to something palpable. Whether it’s my imagination or not, it’s comforting all the same. “We always miss you,” I say. “And we always will. But something tells me that we’re doing okay without you, and I hope that’s alright. I hope it’s alright that I’m falling in love again, because I am. Very much. With life, honestly,” I say, then inhale deeply to finish. “And with April.” 

…

Athena is quiet and reserved when it comes time to go home from the hospital. She holds my hand on the way out and into the house - I’m sure, if it were legal, she would have been in my lap for the ride home. She’s perfectly fine and back to normal, everything is working like it should, with all of the allergens out of her system. I’m glad to have her in one piece, of course, but it’s good to see her out of the hospital setting as well. It was getting unnerving, the sight of her tiny body in that big hospital bed. I was very ready to get back home, where she could have her bed, her room, and her piano. 

On a normal day, she’d lead the way inside without any tether to me. But today, she waits for me to step in first and cowers close like we’re stepping into a stranger’s territory. “Hey,” I say, toeing my shoes off as I look down at her. “You okay?” She meets my eyes with a stoic expression in hers. “Aren’t you happy we’re home?” She nods, but that’s all she gives. “Get your shoes off and I’ll go start on dinner,” I say. 

I give her hand a squeeze and leave her in the entryway, confident she’s capable of removing her own shoes. I walk into the kitchen, take care of my coat, and wash my hands while looking out the far window. I let my mind wander to the conversation that April and I had in the hospital, along with the one-sided talk I had with Myla. Or maybe it wasn’t one-sided, I don’t know. They’ve both been on my mind for different reasons; one because of a beginning and one because of an end. And the strange thing is, the beginning made that ending clearer than it’s ever been - in a positive way. 

“Thena, baby, what do you want to eat?” I call, both sides of the refrigerator open as I look inside. “We have fresh pasta, squash, and I think some leftover Spanish rice. What sounds good?”

I don’t get an answer right away. Instead, I hear defined footsteps that tell me she hasn’t yet taken off her shoes. And when she appears in the kitchen with Nike sneakers still on, my suspicion is confirmed. “Where’s April?” she asks. 

I frown a bit, confused. “I thought I told you to take those off,” I say, nodding towards her feet. “You know the rule about shoes in the house. Go put them in the closet.”

“Where’s April, though?” she asks again, not making any move towards the closet. 

“Why?” I ask. 

She hadn’t asked about April upon waking up. Honestly, I’m not sure she even remembers seeing her old nanny in the hospital room or inviting April to lay with her. When she woke up, she didn’t do much speaking at all except to answer the doctor’s questions. So, the fact that she’s asking for her now catches me off guard. Ever since she caught the two of us in bed, April’s name hasn’t been mentioned. I tried to explain the situation to her the morning after, but she wouldn’t hear it. We still haven’t talked about it, and I know that isn’t a smart move on my part. I’m taking the easy way out as I tend to do. But I felt there was no other choice, as I was still analyzing my own feelings and April’s. I’m realizing now that it was selfish. I didn’t put Athena first and I should have. I behaved unfairly towards her and expected more of her 8 years. Now, I’m riddled with guilt. I shouldn’t ask why she’s asking for April - of course, she’s thinking about her. Not long ago, she called April her best friend. And now, after a big, loud argument and a walkout in the middle of the night, April is gone and has stayed gone. Athena probably feels like it’s her fault. 

“Because April makes dinner here at home,” she says, fingers wrapping around the edge of the island.

April hasn’t made dinner all week since she’s been absent, obviously. But I assume the routine was something of a comfort to my daughter, whose life had been founded on instability before the redhead stepped into it. So, she doesn’t only miss the person, but the dependability as well. I miss that about April, too, along with everything else. I wish she were here, too, helping me with dinner. I love the way she smiles as she cooks, how she jokes with her back turned as she tends to the stove. I love how she weaves Athena into the conversation like it’s nothing at all, including her as she should be. April makes it look so easy. I wonder if I’ll always be this jealous of her ability to glide into any situation and make it her own. 

“She does, doesn’t she,” I say, turning away from the fridge to look at my daughter. She nods and I sigh. “Baby, I was hoping I could talk to you a little bit about her. About April.” 

Athena looks at me warily, wondering what’ll come out of my mouth next. She drops one hand from the island and wrinkles her brow, deducing whether or not she’ll entertain this conversation. “Is she coming over?” she asks. 

“No,” I say. “Not tonight. But we should talk about what you saw last week and how it made you feel, and… where we’re gonna go from here.” She blinks slowly, lips tightening. “I want to start talking to you about this kinda stuff, Thena. I don’t wanna keep any more secrets, okay? I’m gonna be better about my… my thoughts and my feelings and all that stuff. Do you think we could both work on being better about that?” 

She shrugs and says, “Why is that about April?”

“Because I…” I close my mouth to try and figure out the words. “Let me start from the beginning. You like April a lot. Right?” She nods but breaks eye contact, like she’s wondering if she’s allowed to like her anymore - after what she saw and how she reacted. Given the fact she hasn’t brought it up since it happened tells me she isn’t proud of what she did. It’s not entirely unwarranted though; we blindsided her. “Well, I like her, too,” I say. 

“She was my best friend,” Athena says. “Before I made her go away.” 

My chest splinters hearing that. “Hey, no,” I say. “You didn’t do that. It was April’s choice to leave. You didn’t make anyone do anything.” 

“I yelled at her,” she murmurs.

“Because you were confused,” I say. “You were confused, wondering why Daddy and April were sleeping in the same bed together, like moms and dads do. Right? That bothered you?” 

She nods, lower lip jutting out. “You were stealing her,” she says. “She liked you better than me.”

“That’s impossible, I promise,” I say, kneeling so I’m able to look in her pretty brown eyes. “April loves you so much, it’s crazy.” 

“She said that?” Athena says. “She said she loves me?” 

“She’s said it a bunch of times,” I say. “I promise, I could never take the spot you have in her heart. You’ve got such a big seat, I’m not sure how there’s room for more people.” She giggles a little and I reach to take her hand. “But I wanted to ask you if we could share April.” She looks up from our fingers to meet my eyes, confused as she waits for me to finish my thought. “I really like her, too,” I say. “She makes me happy in a way I haven’t been in a long time. And I don’t want you to think that you don’t make me happy, because you do. You really, really do. I’m proud of you every day and being around you brings me so much joy. But I miss having a grown-up around. You know, after you go to bed, I need someone to talk to. I get pretty lonely.”

“Someone to sleep in your bed with you?”

I clear my throat. “Yes, I like it when April sleeps in my bed.” I take a deep breath and brace myself for how the conversation will progress. I don’t want to hide things from Athena anymore. “And I like kissing April, too,” I say.

She frowns deeply as she tries to figure this out. “Does she like it when you kiss her?” she asks and I nod. “On the lips?” she continues, eyebrows up. I nod again and she narrows her eyes. “But only moms and dads kiss on the lips.”

“Well…” I say. “Not always. Sometimes, boyfriends and girlfriends do the same thing.” 

She blinks hard, eyes darting around. “You and April are boyfriend and girlfriend?” she asks.

“I’d really like that to be the case, yes,” I say. 

“Is she your girlfriend and my nanny, too?” 

I take a deep breath and lick my lips. “Well, I don’t think that’s how it would go,” I say. “It’s complicated. She would still pick you up from school on days when she could, and I would do it other days. She’d still come over and cook dinner, but maybe we could help her out more. She’d probably stay over on some nights and be here in the morning while you get ready for school. Maybe, you’d even get to see her on the weekend.” 

“Even on the weekend?” she asks, starting to sound excited.

“Yeah,” I say. “She sings for people at night sometimes, and maybe we could go watch her.” 

“I wanna see her sing,” she says. 

“Me, too,” I say. “I was thinking that… instead of coming back as your nanny, she could come back as my girlfriend. And just be a really, really good friend to you. You wouldn’t call her anything different, she’ll still be the same April. She just won’t be your nanny. She’ll be a big part of both of our lives in a new way.” 

Her eyes light up for a fleeting moment as the joy takes over her face. But as soon as that glee appears, it’s gone. “But…” she says, then lifts a hand to chew on her fingernails. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She looks at the floor, at the sneakers still on her feet. “What about Mommy?” she asks. 

I nod though she’s not looking at me. I was prepared for this, because the same thoughts running through Athena’s mind probably ran through mine at the hospital. “You don’t want her to take Mommy’s place,” I say.

She lifts her head, eyes glassy. “What if I forget about Mommy?” she asks. “What if I love April too much and that makes Mommy gone forever? And I have no thoughts about her left?”

“That’s not how it works, baby,” I say, reaching to cap a hand over both of her shoulders. “Your heart has all the room in the world. You have room for both April and your mom. Your mom’s never gonna go away.” 

“But what if she does?” 

“She won’t, baby, I promise.”

“But what if she doesn’t like April? What if she gets mad that I love her so much?” 

I chew the inside of my cheek for a moment, taking my time to respond. “You know the CD you listen to in your bedroom?” I ask. She nods. “Well, your mom put together the songs on that CD.” 

Her eyes widen as she asks, “She did?” 

“Yeah,” I say. “I never told you that before because… I don’t know. Talking about your mom used to hurt. It used to make me miss her too much. But April helped me see that there’s a happy way to remember Mommy, too, through memories and thoughts and you know what, most of all?” She tips her head to one side, questioning. “Music,” I say, filling in the blank.

“The piano,” she says, pointing to the living room. 

“The piano,” I echo. “And you know April’s favorite composer?” 

“Debussy,” Athena answers. “He’s French. His song Ballade was the first one I ever played.” 

“You’re right,” I say. “And you know who wrote the most songs on the CD your mom made?” 

“Debussy?” she guesses.

“You got it,” I say, smiling. “Your mom won’t be mad at you for loving April, Thena. I think, if they knew each other, they’d be really, really good friends. Look how much they have in common - they both love Debussy and playing the piano. They both love you.” 

“Yeah,” she says, letting the information soak in. “Daddy, would Mommy be mad at  _ you _ for loving April?”

“No,” I say. “And you know how I know?” She shakes her head. “I talked to her about it.” 

“You did?” she gasps. “No, you didn’t. How?”

“I did,” I say. “Just how April said. Just… talked out loud and I felt like she was listening.”

“Do you think she really heard you?” Athena asks.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But I hope she did. It made me feel good to talk to her. It made me miss her a little less, imagining her there with me, listening.” I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Have you ever talked to her like April suggested?” 

She shrugs. “I tried a long time ago, but it didn’t work. So, I stopped.” 

I take a moment to let my thoughts simmer, wanting to make sure I’m positive about what comes next before I let it free. I decide that I am, and after waiting patiently for me to respond, Athena listens to my reply. “Do you want me to take you to see her grave?” I asked. 

“Her gave?” she says, trying out the word.

“Grave,” I correct. 

“What’s that?”

I’m aware that I’ve done my daughter a disservice by never showing her Myla’s headstone. The gray slate isn’t much - there’s not an epitaph on it, not even a birth or death date. When it happened, I had been too emotionally decimated to make any sort of decision. To this day, I still can’t remember her funeral. I should do something about that, make the headstone more than what it is, but for right now it’s all I’ve got. The least I can do is show Athena where she’s been laid to rest. “It’s the place a person is buried,” I say. “You know, like at a cemetery - like what we see when we ride the train north. After you die, if you want, you get put under the ground, under a headstone that marks where you are. And if you want, I can take you to go see Mommy’s.”

“Is it scary?” she asks. 

“No, no,” I say. “You don’t see the dead people. They’re under the ground, safe and sound. You just see the stones with their names on them.” 

“Mommy has a stone?” 

I nod. “It’s not that great, but I want to make it better eventually. I can show you what it’s like now, though. Maybe, being around her grave will help you talk to her. Or help you feel like she’s listening.” 

“Will you sit with me there?” she asks. 

“If you want me to,” I say.

She nods. “I don’t wanna be by myself,” she says. “I’m scared.” 

“Do you not wanna go?” I ask. “We don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” she says, picking her head up.

“Okay,” I say, then bring her closer to kiss her forehead. “Then, we’ll go.” 

…

It’s drizzling on the afternoon we go to visit Myla’s headstone. It’s barely enough to turn the windshield wipers on, but I do anyway. The rhythmic sound fills the heavy silence that has found itself between Athena and me - heavy, but not negative. I can tell there’s a lot on her mind, but I don’t press. There’s good reason for her mind to be busy. She probably has no clue what to expect as we pull up to the cemetery, though I showed her a few pictures of pretty headstones on the internet. I don’t want her to be scared, and I don’t think she is. Interested, maybe. Nervous. But not scared anymore.

“You okay?” I ask her after we park. 

I glance in the rearview mirror to find Athena staring down at her lap. She’s wearing a velvet dress - in fact, the same one she wore the day she met April. This time, though, there are black tights underneath paired with shiny Mary-Jane shoes. This morning, she asked for a new hairstyle, so I wove it into a tight, braided bun on top of her head. With so much of it pulled away from her face, she looks even younger than before. More vulnerable, too. “Yeah,” she answers quietly. 

“You sure?” She nods. “You sure you wanna do this?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay,” I say, unbuckling. “Let’s go, then. If you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready.” 

I wait as she climbs out of the car, listening to the sound of her shoes hit the damp pavement. I start to walk, having memorized the placement of the headstone even after all the years that have passed. I came to visit only one time - when Athena was 6 months old. I had her in a little baby carrier that I held awkwardly, trudging across the wide expanse of this place. She slept through the whole thing, but there had been nothing to witness. All I did was stare at the blank stone and convince myself there was nothing underneath it, nothing to see, and no reason to be there. Now, I feel much differently. Now, my daughter is walking beside me, 8 years old and reaching for my hand. We both know there’s a reason behind why we’re here. 

I take her hand and squeeze the small fingers, relishing the warmth as we walk side-by-side. It’s a long trip down a small pathway, and when the headstone comes into view, I move us into the grass. Athena gives wide clearance to the other graves, careful not to step on any flat headstones or bump into any standing ones, and I think it catches her by surprise when we finally arrive. It surprises me, too - the blankness of it all.

“Daddy,” Athena says. “There aren’t any words.” I stare at the stone and know she’s right. I knew she was right before we came. But now more than ever, I regret not putting more into this marker. It feels like a disgrace to have it so blanched. “Everyone else has words, but not Mommy. Hers just says ‘Avery,’ daddy. Why? It doesn’t even have ‘Myla.’ It looks so empty.” 

“I know,” I say. “That was my fault.”

“You didn’t write the words?” 

“I didn’t,” I say. “I could’ve and I should’ve, but I didn’t.”

“Why?” 

I let out a long, slow breath. “Because this is stuff you have to figure out right after a person dies. And it happened so fast, so suddenly with your mom that… I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t thinking straight, I wasn’t thinking like myself. I couldn’t make any decisions and I didn’t have anyone to help me.” 

“I was just a baby,” she says, voice small. 

“Yes, you were tiny,” I say. “And I was so worried about you all the time. I still worry about you.”

“Why?” 

“It’s just what parents do,” I say. “We worry. We’re made to worry.” 

“Does Mommy worry?” she asks.

“I’m sure she does,” I say. “You can ask her, if you want.” 

She looks at my face for a long time, studying the features slowly. Her eyes rove all over until she tears them away, looking towards the headstone instead. She walks a little closer and sets her hands on top of it, thumbs rubbing the smooth stone. “Hi,” she whispers, testing it out. “Hi, mommy.” I stay in place, hands in my pockets, chin lowered. That is, until she turns to me with a certain look in her eyes, one I can’t quite read. “Can I talk to her by myself?” Athena asks. 

“Of course,” I say, nodding. “I’ll go wait at the edge of the grass. Take your time, baby. Take however long you need.”

I walk backwards for a few steps, just watching her as she turns back around. Before I walk normally, I see my daughter sink to her knees right next to her mother’s nearly unmarked headstone and lean against it. It must be cold, but she pays no mind. 

I get to the edge of the grass and keep my eyes on her. There’s no way I’m able to hear what words are being said, but I don’t need to. She should be allowed to share such private moments with her mother, just like they would if she were alive. I don’t have to be privy to every word, every thought. There are some things that should stay between the two of them. 

She stays at the stone for a long time, but I don’t grow impatient. I take my eyes off of her after a while and look to the white sky, blinking against the raindrops. And because I’m not looking, I jump when Athena appears in front of me and reaches for my hand, asking if we can go back to the car. 

We don’t discuss what she talked about and I don’t feel the need to. We go about the rest of our night as we normally would, the only thing differing being Athena’s attitude. She seems lighter. Not necessarily happier, but like there’s been a weight lifted from her shoulders. I know the feeling well.

That night at bedtime, Athena doesn’t go by herself. When 8pm rolls around, she notices the change of TV show and stands up from the couch at the same time I do - both of us on the same wavelength for the first time in a long time. “Time for bed?” I say, and she nods before leading the way up the stairs.

After getting into her pajamas and putting her bonnet on, she settles under the covers as I kneel at the edge of her bed, my forearm on the mattress as my cheek rests against a closed fist. “I’m not tired yet, daddy,” she says. “Will you tickle my arm?”

“Alright,” I whisper, moving to drag my fingernails down the arm she’s unearthed from the covers. “Did you have a good day today?” I ask.

She nods while making steady eye contact. “Yeah,” she answers softly, voice scratchy with sleep though she had just claimed otherwise. 

“Good,” I say.

“I think Mommy listed to me,” she says. “I think she heard me.” 

“Really?”

She nods. “I listened really hard for her, too. I wasn’t scared being there by myself.” 

“I’m glad,” I say. “It’s good that you got some time alone.” 

“She talked back to me,” she says. 

“Do you wanna tell me what she said?” I ask. “You don’t have to.” 

“She said she likes it when I play the piano,” Athena says, smiling with heavy eyelids. “She likes it a lot, she said. And she also said that she likes it when my April plays, too. I asked her if I was allowed to love her and she said it was okay, because she really likes her a lot.” She blinks slowly, head falling heavier against the pillow. “I miss my April, daddy,” she says. “But if she comes back, do you promise you won’t take her all for yourself?” 

I shake my head. “I promise we’ll share,” I say. “We can both love her. And we can love both her and Mommy at the same time, just not in the same way. We’ll love April in a whole new way.” 

“Okay,” she says, eyes completely closed now. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” I repeat, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Okay.”

…

“Hi,” Athena says, and my phone looks huge in her small hand as she holds it up to her ear. “Is this April that I’m talking to?” 

The phone isn’t on speaker, but I’m close enough that I can hear April on the other line. “Yes, it is,” she says. “Is this Miss Athena?” 

“Yeah,” Athena says, a big smile widening on her face as she ducks her chin. 

“I did not expect to hear your voice. You sound like you’re doing much better.” 

“I am,” Athena says. “I feel better.”

“Good, I’m so happy to hear that. You had me worried for a bit there.” 

“Yeah,” Athena says again. “Um, I called you from my daddy’s phone ‘cause I wanted to see if you wanted to come someplace with us,” she says, making eye contact with me. I nod to encourage her along. 

“Sure, of course,” April answers. “Where are we going?” 

“I want you to meet my mommy.” 

…

When we pull into the cemetery, April is already there and standing in the section where I told her to meet us. It’s cooler today but not raining; the sky is a spectacular blue. She’s wearing a dark green coat and jeans, simple ivory Converse on her feet. Her hair is in loose curls, and she smiles brightly when she sees us. Athena gets out of the car first and bounds over, arms outstretched, and I stay behind during their reunification. April picks her up, swings her in a circle, and buries her face in my daughter’s neck. With her eyes pinched closed, it almost looks like she’s crying.

I get out and make my way over, unable to stop grinning as I watch them hug. “Hey there,” I say smoothly, though on the inside I’m feeling anything but smooth.

“Hi,” April says, eyes twinkling as she sets Athena back on the ground. 

My daughter looks between us, head darting back and forth. “Are you gonna kiss her on the lips now?” she asks. “Because I already know you do that.” 

April bursts out laughing, covering her face as she doubles over. “Oh, my gosh,” she mutters.

“Is that alright with you, Thena?” I ask playfully, sauntering closer to April. “If I kiss her on the lips?”

“Just don’t make me look!” she says, shielding her eyes and turning around. 

“I better make it quick, then,” I say, capturing April’s waist to pull her in. Naturally, she winds her arms around my neck and presses her lips to mine, and I close my eyes with feeling. I let out a sigh, one I’ve seemingly been holding the entire time we’ve been apart, and get lost in the way her body feels against mine. But as much as I’d like to, I don’t let it linger. Not with Athena so close. “I missed you,” I whisper, pulling away to look into her eyes. 

“Missed you so much,” she says, fingers dancing on the nape of my neck. 

“Are you done now?” Athena gripes. 

“Fine, yes,” April says, winking at me before pulling away.

“April,” Athena says, cutting between us and reaching her arms up. April knows the gesture well, so she picks up my daughter easily and balances her on a hip. “Before we go see Mommy, I have a question.” 

“Ask away.” 

“Can you make me a CD like she made me?” she asks. “She made one with her favorite classical songs and I listen to it every night. I know all her favorites and I love them. I want to hear your favorites. too, so then I can have both.” 

April smiles and kisses Athena’s cheek as the little girl waits for an answer. “Of course,” April says with a grin. “I’d love to do that.” 

“Okay,” Athena says, taking April’s hand as she’s put back on the ground. “We can go see her now.” She keeps a tight hold on April as she maneuvers through the headstones, expertly as if she’s been here a thousand times. When we reach Myla’s, she stops and looks up at April, then back to the stone. “This one is hers,” she says, letting of of April’s hand to press her fingers to the top of the slate, just like last time. “This is my mom.” 

Instinctively, instantly, April drops to her knees. She looks quickly to Athena and then back to the stone, before saying, “Hi, Myla. I’m April.” 

Athena’s head darts to her right, where April sits. It’s clear she hadn’t expected the introduction to come so easily, so habitually, as if April were presenting herself to someone living. “I talked to her like you said,” Athena murmurs. “It worked the best when I was right here.” 

“I bet,” April says, tracing the roundness of the stone. “It’s such a pretty headstone. We should decorate it with more things.” 

My daughter flips around, looking hopeful. “Can we, daddy?” she asks. 

I nod surely. “Of course,” I say. 

Turning back around, Athena places a hand in the middle of April’s back as she stands and April continues to kneel. “He said yes,” she tells her, as if April couldn’t hear me herself. 

“Good,” April responds. 

There’s a long pause between them after that, but not an uncomfortable one. Neither of them fidget, sigh, or speak - they simply exist. The three of them, Myla included, right there, together. Then, out of the blue, Athena says it. “My daddy loves you,” she says, clear as day. My stomach plummets to my feet, but she isn’t done. “I asked my mom and she said it was okay. But only if you love him back.” 

April doesn’t hesitate. She doesn’t stutter or hiccup, she answers like it comes as second nature. And maybe, it does. “I definitely do,” she says, and I hear the smile in her voice as she turns to look at Athena. She takes her hand, squeezes it, and says, “And I love you, too.”


	13. Chapter 13

**APRIL**

For a second, I’m confused as to how my bed got to be this comfortable over the course of one night. The sheets are fresher, the pillow softer, and the light is coming from an entirely different side of the room. Someone’s fingers dance over the bare skin of my back - which makes me wonder not only whose hand they belong to, but why I’m sleeping shirtless. I normally wear one of my college t-shirts to bed. 

But then, as goosebumps wake me up, I remember where I am and who I’m with. I’m not in my own bed, but Jackson’s. I’m shirtless and wearing a pair of his boxers that sit low on my waist, and his room gets much more sunlight. My eyelids flutter against it, opening to slits to find him already awake. “There you are,” he says, voice raspy with sleep. He sounds so sexy - if I weren’t half-conscious, I would know what to do about that. 

“Mmph,” I say, shutting my eyes again while pressing my face into the pillow. 

That doesn’t deter him, though. He scoots closer and brushes the hair off my face, off of my neck, so he can caress my skin. “So, you love me, huh?” he says. 

I roll my eyes behind the eyelids, but my lips pull into an involuntary smirk. “I’d love you more if you let me sleep,” I mutter, mouth moving against the pillow.

“I’ve already let you sleep,” he whispers, moving his hand lower. Now, it’s in the middle of my back near the dip of my spine. “I’ve laid here and stared at you for long enough.”

“That’s creepy,” I say. 

“Not when my girlfriend is as beautiful as she is,” he responds. 

“Mm, I’d love to meet her. Sounds pretty. Maybe later, when I wake up.” 

“You are such a lazy-ass,” he laughs, slipping a hand under the waistband of the boxers to get a grip on my ass. “What am I going to do with you?” 

“You can figure that out while I take a nap.” 

He laughs again and I can’t hide my smile, either. He squeezes my ass and my eyelashes flutter, but still remain closed. I can’t deny that it feels good, though. “So, how was your first night here?” he asks.

Yesterday was the day we reunited; all three of us. Seeing them made me happier than I’d been in a long time - I had no idea I’d allowed them such a huge sector of my heart. But being with them both again made me feel whole when I hadn’t been aware I was broken. After the cemetery we went out to dinner and Athena herself asked me to spend the night - and because of that, there was no way I could say no. I didn’t want to, anyway. The three of us watched a movie and after she went to sleep, Jackson and I had time for ourselves. Three or four times, in fact. Which means that it’s his fault why I’m so tired right now, yet he still insists on talking to me. “Good,” I say. 

“Sleep good?” 

I nod and say, “But you snore.”

“You hogged the covers,” he says. “And when I stole them back, you wrapped yourself around me like a vine.” 

“Shut up,” I say. “You loved it.” He chuckles lightly and smacks my ass, which makes me jolt from the resounding sound of skin-on-skin. “Mmm,” I exclaim softly. “Be gentle.” 

“That’s not what you said last night.” 

“Okay…” I say, grinning. “Pulling receipts now.”

“Pulling what?” 

I laugh to myself. “Never mind.” 

Surprising me, he cups my jaw and draws me closer until our lips are touching. It’s a soft kiss at first, but soon turns into something heavier as his tongue slips into my mouth and massages the tip of mine. Unable to help it, my eyes open right into his, though he doesn’t see because now his are closed. When he pulls away, though, he makes eye contact and they’re shimmering. “Finally,” he says. “Those pretty hazel eyes.” 

“I have boring eyes,” I state. 

“Stop lying,” he says, pulling himself up to hover over me. He’s only wearing a pair of boxers, too; and coincidentally or not, they match the ones I’m in. “They’re the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.” 

“I think you’re biased,” I point out, tracing his collarbones with my pointer finger. 

“Maybe,” he says, leaning to kiss me. “But where I’m from, my opinion is valued highly. You should take it seriously.” 

“Oh, where you’re from, huh,” I say, tipping my head when he pulls his away.

“Uh-huh,” he says, closing his eyes as he lowers his face into my neck. He keeps one hand on my breast as he presses slow, defined kisses to the corner of my jaw, my pulse point, the base of my throat. When his tongue comes out and he drags it across the warmth there, heat pools in my belly and I have to press my thighs together to do something about it. 

“When I was younger…” I say, trying to concentrate. “I always wanted blue eyes.” 

“Why?” he asks. “Blue eyes are so… predictable. Yours look different every time I see you. Every day, they’ve got something new.” 

“And to think, I never knew I was dating a poet,” I say, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “Keep talking, Keats.” 

He laughs, a sound that resonates so deep in his throat that I feel it through my skin. He opens his mouth on my sternum, moving lower to sigh against one nipple, pressing his lips against it soon after. He sucks on it hard, pulling nearly my entire breast into his mouth. “Eyes like tree leaves on the first autumn day,” he says. “Where you feel the snap of cold in the air and know it’s coming. You feel it in your bones.” He kisses the plane of my chest across to the other side, where he gives that straining nipple much of the same attention. I run my fingernails over his scalp as he does, our hips bumping together clumsily. “Eyes like the underside of a rock in the deep forest, one that hasn’t been overturned for decades - centuries, even. It sees the light of day for the first time in your eyes.”

I moan with my eyes closed as he kisses my belly, listening to the small sounds of his lips against my skin. “I didn’t know you were really a poet,” I say, inhaling sharply as he laces his fingers around the waistband of my boxers. “What you said… it’s beautiful.” 

“With you, I can be anything,” he says, slipping the garment slowly down my legs so I’m left bare before him. “At least, that’s how it feels.” 

“Mmm…” I murmur, complying as he spreads my thighs and finds a home between them.

With two hands locked around my hips, he opens his mouth on me. When he kisses my core, I lift up to see him completely lost in what he’s doing - eyes closed, nose resting against me, head moving fluidly as he works me up in so many ways. The pads of his fingers sink into my skin just enough to leave white prints behind, and I can’t wait to look at them later and remember what he did. I’ve found that when he gives me head and I get to a certain point of ecstasy, my brain literally goes blank in my pre-orgasm haze and his face is the only thing in my mind. When I reach that near-peak and feel my body begin to vibrate, I reach to push his head down with both hands, watching him smile against my heat as he pulls away for a moment, fluids lingering on his chin. “You taste amazing, Kiwi,” he says. 

I flop back with both hands on my forehead. “I die a little whenever you say that,” I giggle. 

“It’s true,” he says, keeping eye contact while lowering to kiss my outer lips. “I wouldn’t lie. And Jesus Christ, you’re wet.” 

“That’s what happens when you get me hot and then start talking,” I say, letting my knees fall slack to either side. 

“Well, shit,” he says, tracing my lips ever-so-gently with the tips of his fingers. I can’t help jerk against him, the movement worsening as he blows a stream of cool air between my legs. 

“You’re torturing me,” I whine, lifting one foot to place it on his shoulder and push. 

“Hey,” he says, grabbing my ankle and turning his head to the side. He opens his mouth on the arch of my foot and I jump with a slight shriek before he sets it back down. “I’m getting there.” 

I skim my hands over my belly until I reach my breasts, and cup them as he finds his place again. This time, he wraps one arm around a thigh and uses the other to push two fingers inside me, slowly moving in and out as he sucks on my clit. “Shit,” I hiss, grip tightening on my breasts. “Shit…” 

My brain finds that cloudy place, the one that evaded me earlier. I spread my legs as far as they’ll go and Jackson goes harder, pulling all the stops to get me to orgasm. He opens his mouth wide and slips his tongue in to join his fingers, teasing and stimulating me until I’m sweaty and trembling. And when he’s ready, he reaches up and overlaps a hand on my breast before sucking on my clit double-time, eyes closed as he finishes what he set out to do. 

“Shit!” I exclaim, voice wobbling at the top. I come with a few jerks against his face, but that doesn’t deter him. He strokes my lips as I come down, soothing me with the same cool air from before while dropping feather-light kisses to the wet surface of my skin. While I’m still catching my breath, he crawls up my body and plants a big kiss on my lips, one hand tangled in my hair. “Mmm,” I moan against his mouth, twining my legs around his waist. 

“See,” he says, pulling away only for a moment before coming back to suck on my lower lip. “You taste so good.” 

I pull him closer and push his boxers down with my feet, lifting my hips so he’ll get the picture. “I want you inside me,” I mutter quickly, running my hands down his back. “Right now.” 

“Fuck,” he says. “Should I get a condom?”

“Yes, Jackson,” I say impatiently. “But hurry.” 

Luckily, it isn’t long before he sinks inside to fill me in a way only he can. I let my neck go slack when he does, and I squeeze him closer with both my arms and my legs. “Christ,” he groans, thrusting powerfully. 

We could’ve dragged it out if we wanted to, but he makes us both come fast. It feels like the safest way to go. Even with a closed door, I don’t feel totally secure knowing Athena could wake up at any minute. So, when he rolls off and I notice the apex of my thighs is sticky with my own wetness, I kiss him before hurrying to the bathroom to clean up. When I come out, I have on a pair of normal pajamas with my hair in a bun, teeth brushed. “You should go do the same,” I say, acknowledging him in his naked glory. 

He’s lying on the bed wearing nothing at all, hands behind his head, body on full display. And even though his dick isn’t hard, it’s still an impressive size - and very distracting. “What, you don’t like it?” he jokes. 

I pull him up and playfully shove him towards the bathroom. “Get dressed,” I say, smacking him on the ass. 

“Hey,” he calls from the closet. “Watch yourself.”

“What, you can spank me but I can’t spank you?” 

He peeks out, still shirtless. “Wait. I’m allowed to spank you?”

My face flushes red as I turn around, hands to my cheeks. “Oh, my gosh,” I say, shaking my head. “Just get dressed, please! I’m going to go wake up your daughter.” 

“She’ll get up on her own,” he says, walking through the bathroom wearing gray lounge pants. “You don’t have to worry.” 

“I want to, though,” I say. “I remember on Saturdays, sometimes my dad would come in and wake me up and we’d make pancakes. You think we could make pancakes today?” 

“You are so fuckin’ cute,” he says, toothbrush in his mouth. “Sure.” 

“Okay,” I say excitedly. “I’m gonna go get her, then.” I cross the hall to Athena’s room where the door is still shut. When I push it open, I see her just waking up, facing me, eyes bleary and still half in a dream. “Hi, beautiful,” I say, a big smile on my face. I walk to her bed and climb in comfortably, crawling under the warm covers. “Mind if I snuggle in with you for a little bit?” 

She blinks slowly, rubbing her eyes with one fist. “Why?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “‘Cause it’s Saturday, we don’t have anywhere to be, and snuggling makes me happy. Doesn’t it for you?” 

“I guess,” she says, inching closer. 

I tickle her back and listen to her breathing even out, having fallen back to sleep with me beside her. I kiss her forehead a few times, though, and she comes back. “Did you have any good dreams?” I ask. 

She slides an arm around my waist, pulling herself in. “I dreamed I lived inside a big, huge piano,” she says. “I could see the strings moving when people played the keys.” 

“Oh wow,” I say. “That almost sounds like it could be scary.” 

“It wasn’t,” she says, running the fabric of my t-shirt between her fingers. “Did you have a dream? And did you sleep with my daddy?”

“I did,” I say. “And you know what?” She shakes her head. “He snores. So loud.”

Her shoulders bounce as she giggles, then she presses her face against my chest. “He snores!” she says, her voice high-pitched and light. 

“Like a train,” I say, smiling. “And I might have dreamed something, but I can’t remember it right now. Maybe it’ll come to me later. But you know what? We’re gonna make pancakes this morning.”

“Pancakes?” 

“Yep,” I say. “And they’re gonna be the best pancakes you ever tasted.” 

“Why?” 

I smile and shrug, laughing as I say, “Because I said so.” 

…

After we’ve eaten and our bellies are beyond full, Athena and I sit at the piano while Jackson works on his laptop on the couch behind us. “I need a new song,” she says. “All the other ones I play are too easy now.”

“Okay…” I say, mentally flipping through the classical pieces I know by heart. “Well, let’s see. I have one that might work. It’s by Sergei Rachmaninoff, and it’s called Prelude in G, Op.32, Number 5. Alright?” Athena nods and I take a deep breath, prepared to play the quick, quiet song. My fingers dance over the keys as I concentrate on perfection, and once I finish, she’s nodding. 

“I can do that,” she says, then does it perfectly. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over that,” Jackson says from behind us, and I shake my head in disbelief. 

“I want another one!” Athena says excitedly. “That one was way too easy. I learned it too fast, it was too short.” 

I pinch my lips and move them to one side, stumped. “Well…” I say, trailing off. “I don’t know how much I can help you, baby. I don’t have many more songs memorized, and learning new ones will take me a little while.” 

“Oh,” she says, frowning as she slumps down. “Why?” 

“Because most people aren’t like you, crazy genius,” I say, tapping her on the shoulder. “We have to take time to learn music. Your brain is so quick and smart, we can’t keep up with you.”

“Oh.” 

We’re quiet for a little bit as she stares at the keys and I look at her profile. “You know,” I say. “Have you done any thinking about what I suggested a while ago? About taking lessons from a professional; someone who would challenge you?” She turns to look at me, interest piqued as she listens. “If you took lessons from someone who’s trained, they wouldn’t let you get bored,” I say. “You would learn new pieces all the time. You could learn from someone who’s better than me.”

She leans over and hugs my arm with both of hers. “No one is better than you,” she pouts.

“Well, I mean… just at piano,” I say. “They would know more than I do. I’m stuck in my ways and I don’t have much more to teach you. You’re already ahead of me, just like I said you would be. I want you to keep getting better; I  _ want _ you to be better than me.” 

With her head resting against my upper arm, she sighs as she thinks. “But…” she begins. “If I took lessons from a different person, would you still play songs with me?” 

“Of course,” I say, squeezing her close. “I’m never gonna stop doing that, are you crazy?” She tips her head up and smiles. “And maybe,” I say, eyes wide. “You could start teaching me the things that you learn. Then I could be the student.” 

“I could teach you,” she says eagerly. “I would be a good teacher for you, I think.” 

“I think so, too,” I say. 

“Daddy,” Athena says, swiveling around to look back at him. “I decided I wanna take lessons from a genius like me!” 

…

I stay at the Avery house for the rest of the weekend, doing nothing and loving every second. We spend Saturday in our pajamas, watching movies, baking and researching piano teachers. On Sunday, we go to the farmers market to buy fresh fruit and vegetables, and Athena picks out beautiful flowers for Myla’s grave. We head to the cemetery after and she lays them herself, claiming they’ll make it pretty as the stone takes a while to fix. 

On Monday, she insists I be the one to take her to school. We have to walk since Jackson uses the car to get to work, but we make it fun. Unlike before, she doesn’t fight me every step of the way. It’s a walk we’re familiar with, but now, it looks different. Brighter. Happier. Made new, in a sense. 

“Bye-bye, April!” Athena calls from the top of the school steps. “My daddy is gonna pick me up today, right?”

“Right,” I say, leaning on the railing. “But you’ll see me tonight. Remember?”

She gasps theatrically. “We’re coming to see you sing!” she enthuses. 

“That’s right,” I say, then catch her before she turns to walk inside. “Hey!” I say. “I didn’t get to hug you.” She trots down the steps quickly, shiny Mary-Janes clicking along the way. When she reaches the bottom, she jumps into my arms and wraps her legs around my waist, squeezing tight. “Have a great day,” I say, kissing her cheek as she lifts her head. 

She giggles and kisses mine back. “I love you,” she says, looking right into my eyes. 

“I love you,” I say, tapping the tip of her nose. I set her down and then call after her: “See you tonight!” 

…

I barely got any sleep this weekend, so what I’m looking forward to as I unlock the front door to my apartment is taking a long, heavy nap. I’m not on shift at The Grand Luxe today - something that isn’t great for my wallet, but good for my morale. I tell myself to just worry about it later. 

But I’m surprised when I walk inside because, counteracting the silence I thought I’d encounter, I hear noises coming from Steph’s room. At first, I’m on edge, wondering if someone might have broken in during the long weekend I was gone. But my nerves are soon calmed as she comes into view, peering cautiously around the corner like she thought I might be an intruder as well. “Oh,” she says, relieved. “Just you.” 

“Yeah, you scared me, too,” I say, one hand to my heart.

“Sorry.” 

“No, it’s fine,” I say. “You live here. You’re allowed to be here.” 

“Right,” she says. “Just… sorry for scaring you, I mean.”

“Oh,” I say. “Yeah. Right. Sorry for scaring you, too.” 

“Well, you live here, too."

I chuckle nervously, awkwardly. “Yeah. Right.” 

“It was cold in here when I came in,” she says. “Radiators must not be on yet.” 

I roll my eyes. “I’ll call Vicki. Not like she’ll do anything, but…” She laughs and I smile - it’s good to see her. The familiarity of her face makes my chest warm, like sitting next to a fire on a really, really cold day. She’s always had that ability; the ability to make me feel like I’m home. I stand in the hall for a long, drawn-out moment, wringing my hands as my mouth opens and closes like a fish. She watches and waits, though, patient as ever, until I finally find the words. “I miss you,” I say, and feel lighter instantly afterwards. 

Her shoulders deflate immediately, muscles losing all tension and rigidity. I walk down the hall and linger in the doorway of her room, eyes on her, unsure of how close to get. “I miss you, too,” she admits, shaking her head. “I’ve been having a really, really shitty time. And the only person I wanted to talk to about it was you. The one person who I couldn’t talk to.” 

My chin quivers - of course, I’ll cry. There’s no question about it. “Can I hug you?” I ask. 

“You don’t have to ask,” she says.

So, right away, I wrap my arms around her. Tight, too. I squeeze her shoulders and press my forehead against the front of one of them, sniffling while trying to hold back my tears. “You can always talk to me,” I say, voice muffled by her shirt. “No matter if we’re pissed at each other, a thousand miles apart, or… or whatever. We’re best friends, Stephy.” 

“I felt like I couldn’t, though,” she says. “When I yelled at you, the look on your face…” We pull apart and she wipes the moisture off her cheeks, blinking towards the ceiling to stop her tears. “It was awful. I felt like such an awful person.” 

“I never thought that,” I say.

“You could’ve,” she says.

“I was confused above anything,” I say. “I just wanted to talk it over with you.” 

“I felt too weird to talk about it,” she says, avoiding my eyes. “Honestly, it still feels weird.”

“Why?” I ask. 

“Because… don’t  _ you _ feel weird? Knowing what I feel and like, being here? Hugging me?”

I shake my head, eyebrows furrowed. “No,” I say. 

“I don’t know how you don’t.” 

“Because I know you,” I say. “And your feelings aren’t creepy.”

She blinks and a few tears fall to make streams down her cheeks, creating shiny rivulets on her skin. She frowns, shakes her head and says, “It just all came out of nowhere. Like, I didn’t always feel this way about you. I don’t want you to think that… I was like, grooming you or some shit. Or stalking you and waiting for you to be single so I could, like, pounce… or something.” 

“Steph,” I say. “I would never think like that.”

“Okay,” she says forlornly. “I just wanted to make sure.” 

“No,” I say softly, taking her wrist. “I couldn’t think of you like that.” 

“It’s just that…” she begins. “I’ve had all these shitty relationships with guys. They all fuck me over or turn out to be complete losers, and I’m just so tired of it. You know?” She sighs. “When I’m with a guy, I feel like they don’t see me for who I really am. I don’t feel like anyone does - no one except for you. And I think that’s why these feelings started developing, because you make me feel safe.” 

I nod slowly, listening to what she’s saying. “I know what you mean,” I say. “You make me feel safe, too. You always have. When I moved here and met you from that random ass ad you tacked up in Starbucks.” 

“I could’ve been a killer for all you knew, you fucking freak,” she whimpers, but it makes us both laugh. 

“But I get it,” I say. “That safe feeling. When I left my dad and came here, I thought I was gonna be friendless forever. But you showed me otherwise. I’ve never had a friend like you. Not ever, in my whole entire life. You just get me. And you call me out on my bullshit when I need it.” I take a deep breath. “I should’ve been there for you; I should’ve known something was wrong. I shouldn’t have kept secrets about Jackson, and I’m sorry. I know that hurt you.” 

She shrugs. “I overreacted,” she says. “It’s because I was feeling all those things and… I don’t know. It felt like you were kicking me to the side for him.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I really wasn’t trying to do that. But I promise, I won’t do it again.” 

“I make you feel safe, too, just like you do for me,” she says, recalling what I said. “But… you don’t feel the same kind of way about…” 

“No,” I say gently. 

“Just making sure,” she says.

“Do you think you might be bi?” I ask, treading lightly. Discovering my sexuality was tough for me, and I did it all on my own until Izzie came about. I still have no clear idea of what I’m doing, so I’m not sure how much of a help I’ll be to Steph, but the least I can do is be a listening ear. 

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “I don’t know if it’s just like… a you thing, or a girls in general thing. It’s confusing.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”

“You figured it out with Izzie, right?” she says and I nod. “Yeah, I don’t know. I might be… but I don’t really want to put a label on it, if that makes sense? It just feels weird.” 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do,” I say. “It’s your business, not anyone else’s.” 

“I wish this wasn’t happening to me,” she says. “Everything was easier before it got messy.”

I laugh a little. “Life is messy. That’s how it works, I think.” 

“Yeah, but feelings for your best friend messy?” she asks. “You must feel so weird being around me.”

“Steph, I really don’t,” I say. “Do you feel weird being around me?” 

Her eyes dart everywhere, unable to land. “No,” she says. “Not necessarily. Just… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like it used to.” 

I frown, concerned. “Does that mean you want to stop being friends?” I ask. 

“No,” she answers instantly. “No, no, I don’t want that.” 

“Good,” I say. “Because that would really wreck me.” 

“No,” she says. “I just… I don’t really know how we’re… I’m… gonna navigate this. The feelings will probably just fade with time. Maybe I’ll meet someone else. I’m just gonna try to not think about it and hope it all goes away.” 

“Or you can talk to me about it,” I suggest. 

She takes a deep breath, indecisive. “I don’t know if that’s the smartest choice,” she says.

“Right,” I say, pressing my lips together. 

“I just need time to figure it out,” she says. “And I don’t wanna take a break from our friendship or anything, I want to still hang out, but…” She sighs. “I think I need to move.” 

In that moment, my stomach drops to my feet and I lose my breath, unable to think of anything to say for a few beats. “You…” I stammer. “Really?’ 

“It’ll make things easier,” she says. “I promise, I don’t want us to be distant. I just think it’s the right choice for where I’m at right now. I don’t wanna lose you, A, but I need to figure myself out.” 

No one understands that more than I do, so I don’t have an argument against it. My heart breaks at the prospect of not living with her anymore, though - I’ve grown so used to it, I’m not sure how I’ll fare without her. But that’s my problem, not hers. We can’t be so codependent where she makes choices depending on what’s best for me. She has to think about herself and her mental wellbeing, and her heart as well. If this is the best option for her, then she should do it. I can’t help but worry about money, but as long as she finds a subletter, it shouldn’t be a problem. I can figure this out. Just because she’s moving out doesn’t mean I’m losing her; she said so herself. “Okay,” I say. “I understand.” 

“You do?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I want what’s best for you and what’s best for our friendship, so yeah. If that’s what you gotta do… you should do it.” 

“You aren’t mad?” she asks. 

I shake my head and say, “Steph, no.” 

“Good,” she says. “I was worried.” She pauses then shifts her weight, looking at me with a curious expression. “Where were you all weekend, by the way?” she asks. “I’ve been here since Friday night.” 

“Oh,” I say, chewing the inside of my cheek. I told myself that I don’t want to hide things from her anymore, so the next step is to lay everything out in the open and hope she doesn’t judge me. “Um… I was at Jackson’s.” 

“Jackson… as in, your boss?” she asks, and I can tell she’s trying to approach the subject with an open mind.

“Not anymore, no,” I say. “Um, I quit working for him.” 

“You quit nannying?” she asks. “Why?” 

I run one hand through my hair and feel my face heat up. “Because I fell in love with him,” I say. “And Athena, too, but… the problematic part was that he and I fell in love. Um… we’re seeing each other now. It’s serious.” 

“Damn,” Steph says, an incredulous smile working its way onto her face. “Damn.” 

“I know, it’s weird,” I say. “But there’s so much to the story that you can’t see from the surface. Like, Athena is a piano prodigy. Seriously. Any song I play, she’ll hear it once and be able to mirror it perfectly. I’ve never seen anything like it. She’s amazing. And she lost her mother - you know that. We had a hard time for a while, but I think we’ve really started to bond over our similarities now. It’s almost comforting, I think, for the both of us. And Jackson, well… Jackson.” I can’t help but smile - so wide it hurts my face. “I’m not gonna go on and on about him because that’s annoying, but he’s just really great.” I meet her eyes. “You would like him, I think.”

“I’d like to meet him,” she says, surprising me. 

“You would?” I ask, eyebrows up.

“Yeah,” she says. “If they’re important to you, they’re important to me.” 

“Oh,” I say, blushing for a new reason now. That wasn’t what I expected at all - for her to approve. My heart feels fluttery, like a sense of hope renewed. “Okay. Um.. well, they’re gonna come to The Whistler and see me sing tonight. I-I hope that’s okay. If you wanna come… um, to sing, of course, you should. But, um… maybe to meet them, too? That would be really cool.” 

“You can stop stuttering,” she says, punching me lightly in the arm. “I’m gonna come.”

…

I’m used to singing on stage. Before I go up on normal nights, I’m calm, cool and collected. It’s not typical of me to get nervous, but this is not a typical night. Tonight, Steph, Jackson and Athena are in the audience, waiting for me. They’re sitting together at a small, round table, and I can see them from where I’m standing. Athena is facing forward, presumably watching for me, but Jackson and Steph are having light conversation. I’m dying to know what they’re talking about and it’s making my hands sweat. If I don’t calm down, I’m going to make a fool of myself out there. And last time was mortifying enough. I’m not doing that again. 

So, before I step onto the stage, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. Then, I do something that I’ve been preaching but haven’t actually done myself in a while. “Hi, mama,” I whisper, barely moving my lips. I know she can hear me, though; she always can. “I need you to be with me for this one. I’m so nervous and I don’t wanna mess up. Just tell me it’ll be okay, and I’ll feel better.” 

Of course, no one talks back. But I know it isn’t my imagination when warmth washes over my shoulders like a wool blanket, encompassing me like a hug on a winter’s day. I know it’s her. I don’t need any other validation. 

“Please welcome, our very own April Skye!” 

My knees wobble as I head out, but I strengthen once I’m under the lights. My smile is uncontrollable, knowing who’s watching, and my grip on the mic is confident. “Hey, everyone,” I say, looking around. “I’m April Skye, as you probably know. And I’m gonna be singing Our House.” I flash one more grin and cue the music, then let it overcome my senses as I build my voice to sing. “ _ I’ll light the fire, you place the flowers in the vase that you bought today... Starin’ at the fire for hours and hours while I listen to you play our love songs all night long for me, only for me... Come to me now, rest your head for just five minutes... Everything is good... Such a cozy room, windows are illuminated by the evenin’ sun shines through them, fiery gems for you, only for you... Our house… is a very, very, very fine house. With two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard... Now, everything is easy ‘cause of you. _ ” 

There are tears in my eyes once I finish and I think I know why.

…

“So, are you gonna tell me what you and Steph talked about earlier?” I ask Jackson as we’re lying in bed that night. 

He’s lying on his side, spooning me from behind. I’m facing the window, tracing the veins on his hand while listening to his breathing deepen as he gets closer to the rest I won’t let him take. “Hmmm…” he murmurs, already half-gone. “April, what?” 

“You heard me,” I say, playing with his fingers. “I want to know what you and Steph talked about.” 

“I was just sleeping.” 

“You wake me up in the morning, I wake you up at night,” I say. “It’s fair.” 

“It’s not fair,” he grunts. “I wake you up with head and you wake me up with questions. Nowhere near the same thing.” 

“Just answer the question.” 

He sighs deeply and I smile to myself, amused. Before responding, he tightens his arm around my waist and I arch my back, deliberately pressing my ass against his crotch. “Don’t,” he warns. 

“Just answer,” I say. “I’m nosy.” 

“And a night owl, too, apparently,” he says, then concedes. “We didn’t talk about much. She told me a little about herself, where she’s from and all that. How you guys met. I told her about me, had an awkward conversation about how me and you turned into what we are and… yeah. That was basically it. Then, we watched you sing. I already told you that you sounded beautiful. Can I sleep now?” 

“You’re so old,” I gripe playfully, tucking a foot between his ankles. “But yes. Go to sleep, grouchy.” 

I close my eyes as his body slackens, growing heavier around mine as sleep takes him. I feel restful but not tired as I lie there and let the day pass through my head benignly. Before long, though, just as I’m about to succumb, I hear soft footsteps in the doorway - socks padding on the carpet heading towards my side of the bed. 

I prop myself up on an elbow, instinctively nervous. “Athena,” I hiss, whispering through the darkness. I see her little shape in the inky room, clutching her favorite bunny - whose name I learned just the other day is George. She walks closer, and as she passes the window her face lights up with light from the moon. It’s clear she’s barely conscious. I’m not sure she even knows where she is. “Thena, honey,” I say, touching her arm to avoid a confrontation like last time. “I’m not Mommy.” 

“I know,” she murmurs, her voice as tiny as she is. She crawls into bed slowly, one knee at a time, and folds herself against my body. With only George between us, she sighs deeply and relaxes, whispering one last thing before falling asleep. “I want my April.” 


	14. Chapter 14

**JACKSON**

We’ve fallen into something of a routine, the three of us. Some days, April picks up Athena from school and brings her either home or to piano lessons at the Chicago School of Music. On days April works long shifts at The Grand Luxe, I take off early and pick up Athena myself. By 7pm, all of us are eating dinner together. We haven’t missed a day in almost four weeks. 

Tonight we had lasagna, and I’d been working on it since 4pm when Athena and I got home. April was weary when she walked through the door, still in her suit from the restaurant, but a smile still lit up her features. Her smile has a way of doing that - changing everyone’s mood in the room. We’d all eaten together and listened to Athena talk about how she was frustrated with learning to read music. She’s having a hard time understanding why she needs to read it when she can simply hear a piece and play it by heart. Usually, April would try and instill the notion that knowing what the notes mean is just as important as playing them, but she was silent tonight. 

Now, Athena is asleep upstairs and the two of us are in the kitchen. April is at the sink, scraping the lasagna pan in a rhythmic manner, a grating sound reverberating through the kitchen. I’ve just carried in the last of the dishes from the table to set them on the counter, so I stand beside her for a moment, just watching. 

“What?” she snaps, surprising me. 

I recoil a bit, having not expected such a biting tone. Her face had been placid, calm even, but her voice is the complete opposite. “Nothing,” I say submissively. “Just looking at you.” 

“Oh,” she says, continuing to scrape the pan. She holds it with one hand and with the other, goes mad with the flat edge of a metal spatula. Her elbow moves up and down as she works on the burnt-on noodles, eyebrows set in low concentration. 

“Am I allowed?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood. 

“I guess,” she mutters without looking up. She inhales tiredly and says, “You should’ve sprayed this first.” 

“My bad,” I say. “I didn’t think.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” she says. “Because I’m still here scraping off these noodles.” 

“You don’t have to,” I say. “I can do it.” 

I reach for the pan, but she shoots me a warning look and shakes her head. “No,” she says. “You cooked.” 

“Well, it’s my mess,” I say. “I feel bad that you’re still working on it.” 

“Whoever cooks doesn’t clean,” she says. “That’s how we always do it. I’m fine, Jackson. I’ll get it done.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she says tautly, then looks back to the sink to continue scraping. 

“Alright,” I say, moving to load the dishes into the dishwasher. 

“Those need to be rinsed,” she says, looking over with just her eyes. “I’ll do it, Jackson, just don’t worry about it.” 

“I can help,” I say. “There’s a lot to get done.” 

“I can do it,” she insists again, eyes wide. “You’re just getting in the way. I’ll be done quicker if you just… go do something.”

“Jesus, alright,” I say, backing off with my palms raised.

“Don’t do that,” she says. “Don’t act like I’m horrible.” 

“Well, you’re biting my head off for no reason,” I mumble, eyebrows raised as I walk away. 

“I just don’t know why you’re trying to change up the routine,” she says, turning on the faucet to rinse off the noodle debris. 

“You seem upset,” I say. “I was just trying to help.” 

“If I needed help, I’d ask,” she says, reaching to flick on the garbage disposal. 

“Would you?” I say. 

“What’s that mean?” she spits, narrowing her eyes. 

“It means I think something’s on your mind that you’re not telling me,” I say. “You’ve been so quiet the past few days and now you’re pissed at me about a fucking pan.” 

“You should’ve- oh, my god,” she says, shaking her head while continuing to dig at the dish. “All you needed to do was lightly grease it. It literally says it right there on the recipe. Then I wouldn’t be standing here getting mad over a ‘fucking pan.’” 

“I forgot, April,” I say. “It didn’t seem that important.” 

“Well, it was,” she says. “Because I’m gonna wear the protective coat off this thing if I keep at it any longer.” 

“Then stop,” I say. “Put it in the dishwasher. Just forget about it.” 

“The dishwasher will not get this off,” she says, going harder. 

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Just leave it. So what, if there are a few spots.” 

“It’s not ‘so what,’” she says. “It’s gross. I’m gonna get it off. Will you just leave it alone?” 

“Fine,” I say, turning around to head towards the living room. I turn on a show to get my mind on something else, but the sound of the spatula against the pan can still be heard over it. I resist the urge to go back in there and just take it from her; that would not go over well. She’s been in an incorrigible mood over the past few days and denies it whenever I bring it up. She hasn’t been acting like herself, but I have no clue why. She’s been disappearing into her head, only half-present for everything. She’s been tired, lethargic even, not talkative at all. I’ve asked her if anything is wrong what feels like a thousand times, and if I ask any more I’ll get my head bitten off. I can just hope she comes to me with it on her own. 

I stay on the couch with the TV on until the kitchen goes quiet. I notice the lack of noise, and it strikes me as odd that April doesn’t appear in the entryway upon finishing. I wait a few more minutes, but still nothing happens. So, with furrowed eyebrows, I get up and walk into the kitchen to find her doubled over, leaning on the island with her head in her hands. Hearing my footsteps, though, she snaps to an upright position and pushes her hair out of her face. “You scared me,” she mutters. 

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She shakes her head like it’s nothing. “Just resting,” she says. 

“Seems like an odd place to rest,” I say. “I’m watching  _ New Amsterdam _ , if you wanna come join. New episode just started.” 

“I don’t know,” she says. 

“Oh… okay,” I say, still hovering. The question is on the tip of my tongue and there’s no way I can hold it back. It’s right there. “Baby, are you okay?”

She sighs, resting against the countertop while avoiding my eyes. Her hands are red from the hot water - so red, they look painful. “I’m fine,” she says. “Just tired.” 

“You haven’t been yourself in days,” I say, not letting her off the hook this time. “I know something’s up.” 

“I’m fine, Jackson,” she reiterates, but her facial expression is anything but fine. Her skin is lackluster, her cheeks are sallow and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. Even her lips are pallid; this is the most exhausted I’ve ever seen her. 

“Have you been sleeping?” I ask. 

Admittedly, I fall asleep fast every night. I make sure she’s comfortable, of course, and say goodnight, but I’ve never had problems with sleep. I’d have no idea whether or not she’s had issues. “I’ll be fine,” she says, avoiding the question. 

“April,” I say seriously. 

“I just wanna sit down, okay?” she says. “Can we go watch our show?” 

With a small sigh, I concede. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and kiss her temple, then walk with her back to the living room where the TV is paused. We sit on the couch like we normally do - my back against the arm as she rests between my legs, the back of her head on my collarbone. I wrap an arm around her sternum and kiss the side of her head over her hair, and she relaxes into me. “I love you,” I tell her softly. 

She overlaps my hand with hers, fingers dancing over my knuckles in the dainty way they always do. “Love you, too,” she says weakly. 

Something still pulls at me; I know she’s not telling me the truth about being okay. I can tell by the way she talks, the way she holds herself. It’s clear something is bothering her, but I can’t force it out. She’s stubborn; I’ll just have to wait. So, I move my arm lower to get comfortable, slipping a hand underneath her shirt to rest on her soft, bare belly, and stroke her skin in the way she loves. The show begins but before ten minutes even go by, her body has gone slack with sleep. 

I let her rest. It’s clear she’s tired, and I like the way she feels against me. Vulnerable, soft, and sleep-heavy. Her breath comes deeply, her heart pumps slow, and she makes quiet sounds in the back of her throat as she drifts further and further away. I close my eyes and press my cheek against her head, feeling a thousand sweet emotions flow through me as I relish her body so close to mine. When the show is over and it’s time to head up to bed, I almost can’t bear to wake her. I do, though. A night on the couch won’t be good for either of us. “April,” I say, taking my hand out from her shirt to drag my fingers up her arm. “Baby.” 

“Hmm,” she hums, turning to snuggle closer against my chest.

I smile to myself and pat the dip of her waist. “Show’s over,” I say. “You wanna go to bed?” 

“Mm-mm,” she says, shaking her head no. 

“Well, we should,” I say. “This couch will kill my back.”

“Old,” she murmurs, and I snort as she sits up and rubs her eyes. She looks at the TV then back to me, saying, “I fell asleep.” 

“Yeah, you did,” I say, thumbing a bit of dried saliva off of her cheek. “Hard, too.” 

“Did I miss the show?” she asks confusedly.

“Yeah,” I say. “It was a good one, too. Dr. Reynolds and Bloom just-”

“No, don’t tell me,” she says, one hand flat on my chest. “I’ll watch tomorrow.” 

We head upstairs slowly, April trailing behind dragging her feet. We brush our teeth in the master bathroom and she washes her face with care, then puts her hair into the bun she normally sleeps in. I’m already lying down when she crawls under the covers, and even with the lights off I can tell she’s staring at the ceiling, a thousand thoughts running through her head. But before I can ask her to open up yet again, she starts to cry. 

I turn on the bedside lamp and lift onto an elbow, watching her face even as she covers it with both hands. She sniffles and whimpers, wiping the moisture off her cheeks, and all I do is rest a hand on her stomach and rub in circles. “What is it, baby?” I ask softly. 

Her chest heaves as she sobs, breath catching in her throat with each one. She turns to face me, curling into herself, and I brush her hair out of her face before kissing what of her forehead I can reach. “I’m so embarrassed,” she says, hicupping. 

“Don’t be… no,” I say, petting her hair. “You can tell me anything, you know that.” 

She turns to press her face into the pillow and lets out a broken moan, trying to catch her breath after. “I can’t afford my life right now,” she says, face still obstructed by her hands. She really is ashamed. 

“What do you mean?” I ask. 

She sniffles in, long and hard. “I mean…” she begins. “I’m not getting a second income since I’m not Athena’s nanny anymore. The Grand Luxe doesn’t pay enough and I’m already working as many hours there as I’m allowed. And on top of that, Steph is moving out and I can’t afford the apartment without her.”

So, that’s what it is. All week, that’s what’s been on her mind and worrying her. And right now, it’s coming out in the form of racking sobs and whimpers as she cries. I don’t need time to think about it; the answer is right there. It’s simple. “Move in with us,” I say. 

She stops crying instantly, stunned. Her hands come away from her face and she looks at me with glistening cheeks and eyes bloodshot as hell. “What?” she peeps. 

“Move in here,” I say, like it’s nothing at all. “You already spend most of your time here anyway. I can’t remember the last time you went home.” 

She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, still giving me that deer-in-the-headlights expression. “I… I can’t do that,” she says.

“Why not?” I ask. 

“Be-because,” she says, eyebrows low. “Jackson, that’s crazy.” 

“Is it, though?” I continue. 

“Yes,” she says. “I… we’ve only known each other, like… what, six months? We haven’t even been dating that long. Moving in together… that’s really huge.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s why I’m suggesting it.” 

She blinks and the tears clinging to her eyelashes trickle down her face. “I…” she stammers, opening and closing her mouth without much to say. “What about Athena?”

“She would see you even more frequently. She would love it.”

April chews her lip, still troubled. “What about… what would your family think?” she asks weakly.

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” I say. “It’s not their business. You’re our family, baby, mine and Thena’s. I hope you count us as yours, too. That’s why I think it makes sense for you to move in. Yeah, it’s fast. But don’t you think it would happen eventually? That’s where my mind is, at least.”

“I know it’ll happen eventually,” she says quietly, hands tucked under her chin. “But…” She sighs. “My dad hasn’t even met you. I don’t know what he’d think. And I know, I heard what you just said about it being our business, but… I don’t know. I’ve left him out of so many other life choices that it feels wrong to do it with one as big as this.” 

“Then we won’t,” I say. “I’d love to meet him. Is he free this weekend?” 

...

In the car on the way to Ohio, April is unnervingly quiet. I stopped trying to engage her in conversation a few hours ago, though I felt in bad doing so. Athena has been quite the chatterbox, going on about what she’s been learning in piano lessons and what she wants to teach April. She’s asked a thousand questions about April’s father - what his house is like, his neighborhood, his age, his demeanor. April stopped giving worthwhile answers around the same time she shut me out. She seems to be depleted of energy, still in a funk, but a different one from a few days prior. 

I can’t help but worry that she’s not ready for us to meet, her father and me. Athena, too. But if she weren’t ready, she would’ve said something. That’s how April is; she’s honest. If she didn’t want it to happen, we wouldn’t be in the car right now. I still can’t help but feel concerned that she’s becoming flighty, though. She hasn’t stopped wringing her hands for at least an hour, and when I take one of them in mine to calm her, it’s cold and sweaty.

“You okay?” I ask, and it’s actually the first time. I’ve been trying to stop breathing down her neck, trusting she’ll come to me with her problems when she’s ready. 

“Nervous,” she murmurs, clasping my fingers tighter.

That brings me a sense of relief. The nerves are normal, it’s not something deeper, not something that calls for a conversation. The feeling will go away as soon as the hard part is over. Surprisingly, I’m not anxious at all. I’m actually looking forward to meeting her dad, someone so important to her. It’ll be like getting a peek into her past, and I’m very interested in doing that. If he raised a daughter as kind, thoughtful and smart as April, he must be a great guy. 

“Why’re you nervous, April?” Athena pipes up from the back seat.

“Well, because my dad is… my dad,” April says, after taking a while to answer. “I want him to like you guys. It matters a lot to me.” 

“Duh, he’s gonna like us. I’m me! And everybody likes my dad. Except not me sometimes, but that’s different,” she says.

“Hey,” I say playfully, squinting back at her in the rearview.

She giggles, amused with herself. “Only when you’re a meanie,” she says. “And bossy.” 

“I am never bossy,” I joke.

“April, is  _ your _ dad bossy?” Athena asks. 

“No, not really,” April says. 

“Am I gonna like him?” 

“I hope so."

It isn’t much further to April’s childhood home, and when we pull up in the driveway, Athena is amazed. “Look at all the grass!” she shouts. “It’s all over!” We don’t have much of a yard in Chicago, and before now I never thought twice about it. Now, I can’t say as much. My daughter’s eyes are huge and shiny as she takes in the yard, so big I can barely see the woods at the back. “April, did you get to play on all that?” she asks. “When you were little?” 

“Yeah,” April says. “All the time.” 

“Nuh-uh!”

“It’s too bad he took down my old swing set, otherwise you could play on it,” she says. 

We get out of the car and Athena stands on her tiptoes, craning her neck towards the house. “Is there a piano in there?” she asks.

“Yeah,” April says, voice catching in her throat. 

“Your old one?” 

“Yep.” 

“Can I play it?” 

“Thena, calm down,” I say, one hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get inside and get settled first, okay? You’re bombarding April with too much.” 

“Am I being too much?” Athena asks April, turning her head. 

“It’s fine,” she answers.

“She’s  _ fine _ , daddy,” Athena says, tugging on my hand. “I just wanna know if I can play the piano. Maybe I can show her daddy how good I am.” 

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe. Let’s feel it out, okay? How about we just be still for a while. April is nervous, remember?”

Athena lets go of my hand and makes her way over to April, wrapping both her arms around one of April’s. “It’s okay,” she tells her. “Don’t be scared. They’re just dads. Dads always like each other ‘cause they have the same brains and think the same.” 

April smiles weakly, saying, “You think?”

“Yeah. They think boring.”

“I heard that,” I grumble. 

We arrive at the front door and don’t even need to knock before a white-haired man answers with a wide smile. I know where April got hers now, but the eyes must be her mother’s because his are a light chestnut brown. “You’re here!” he announces.

“Hi, daddy,” April says meekly. 

“Baby,” he says, pulling her into a tight hug. “So good to see you.” 

She pulls away and wraps one arm around Athena’s shoulders, gesturing towards her. “Dad, this is Athena. And this is her father, Jackson.” 

“Jackson, her boyfriend,” Athena clears up, raising her hand. “Jackson is her  _ boyfriend _ .” 

April’s dad laughs and reaches for my hand, giving me a hearty handshake. “Good to meet you, Jackson,” he says. “I’m Joe.” Then, he kneels to Athena’s level and shakes her hand, too. “Thanks for coming all this way,” he says to her. “I’m Joe.” 

Athena leans against April’s leg, still clutching her hand. “You’re April’s daddy?” she asks and Joe nods. “Her mommy died?” He nods again, this time a bit sadder. “Mine did, too,” Athena finishes. 

“I heard,” he says. “And I’m very sorry to hear that.” 

“Thanks,” I say. 

“Why don’t you come inside? I made sandwiches,” Joe says. “We can eat on the back patio; it’s a three-season porch. It’s so nice out there right now with all the leaves, you’ll love it.” 

We walk inside, take off our shoes, and Athena pipes up again. “Do you have a piano?” she asks.

Joe looks down at her with curiosity. “Yes, I do,” he says. “The one April started playing when she was a bit younger than you. Played it all the way ‘til she moved out.” 

“I can play,” Athena says. “I know how.” 

“So I heard,” Joe says, eyebrows up. 

“Did you know I’m a prodigy?” she asks. 

“Thena,” I say. “Don’t brag.” 

“I’m not,” she insists. “I am one.” 

Joe laughs heartily. “She’s funny,” he says. “But yes, I have heard that. I heard you’re very good. Would you like to play it?” 

“Later,” I say, eyeing Athena before she can answer. “We’ll eat first. You cooked for us.” 

“Well, I’d barely call it cooking,” he says, leading the way into the kitchen. “I threw some ingredients together, that’s about as culinary as I get. But it should taste good and it’ll fill you up, that’s for sure. Wanna dig in?” We all agree and make up plates for ourselves before heading to the porch like he suggested. Athena sits on April’s lap and I sit on the futon next to Joe, who’s already made me feel at home. He’s very easy to be around much in the way that April is. “So, how’d you two meet?” he asks, though I’m sure he already knows. 

Athena doesn’t give either of us time to answer before she takes the floor. “April was my nanny and then Daddy started to love her. So, they wanted to be together like boyfriend and girlfriend, which means she isn’t my nanny anymore. But now, I see her even more. She’s around all the time. And when she stays over, she sleeps in bed with my dad and on Saturday mornings, we have pancakes. On school mornings, she gets me up and if we have time, she snuggles with me. Or I go to their bed in the night and snuggle with her there.” 

Joe laughs amusedly. “Well, there you go,” he says. “Sounds like you have a great little thing going.” 

“We do,” I say, glancing at April with a smile. She’s wearing one, too, but her eyes aren’t in it. The nerves should be gone by now. Her dad and I are getting along great; I’m not sure what else there is to stress about. 

“How long have you two been in a relationship?” he asks. 

I look to April to see if she plans on answering; I don’t want to take over the conversation. She’s barely paying attention, though; her eyes are out the window and she’s leaning the side of her face against Athena’s shoulder. “About four or five months,” I say. “Known each other for a bit longer than that.” 

“We’re moving in together soon,” April chimes in, surprising me. Athena smiles, having already heard the news and gotten excited about it.

“You are?” Joe asks. 

“If that’s alright,” she says warily.

“Honey, you’re almost 25. You don’t have to ask my permission for things like that.”

“I know,” she says quietly.

“And I think it’s great,” he says with a smile, a genuine one. “When’s the wedding? When’s the babies?” 

I laugh a bit uncomfortably and look to April for support, but she offers none. Instead, a strange look comes over her face as she lifts my daughter off of her lap and stands up, setting her plate to the side as she leaves the room. “Where are you going, April?” Athena calls after her, but she doesn’t answer. 

“Was it something I said?” Joe asks. “Jeez, I’m sorry. Sometimes, she can be… I don’t know. Hard to read. She seems a little off today, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah,” I say, eyes on the door that she just walked out of. “Thena, are you gonna be alright here if I go check on April?”

“Can I play piano?” she asks, looking between me and Joe. 

“Sure,” I say. “As long as you ask Joe.” 

“I would love that,” he says. “Come on, Mozart, let’s go see how the old thing sounds.” Then, he looks to me and says, “She’s probably in her room. Upstairs, first door on your left.”

I hear my daughter start to tell him about how Debussy is her favorite, not Mozart, before I find my way to the stairs. The house is quiet, so when the notes of Ballade float through the air, they resound clear and crisp. I hope April can hear them from where she is, too. 

I go up the stairs and follow Joe’s directions, finding the room in question with the door cracked. I linger near the opening, knocking on the frame before saying, “Baby, are you in there?” 

“Yeah,” she answers immediately. “You can come in.”

I push open the door to a whirlwind of pink. Pink walls with pink bead curtains, but with white furniture. This room is everything that a girl in the 90s would dream of. There’s a canopy bed with frills that she’s sitting on, and even now it dwarfs her. I can’t imagine what it was like when she was a kid. “Hey,” I say, looking around. 

“I know, it’s very Pepto-Bismol,” she says. “I was really into pink.” 

“I can see that,” I say, then nod towards a poster on the far wall. “And The Backstreet Boys, too, I see.” 

“Yeah,” she says, mustering a laugh. 

“Can I sit?"

She scoots over and pats the spot next to her, shoulders slumped forward. I sit down and lean my weight back on my hands, watching her face with care and curiosity. “I’m sorry I hid,” she says.

“You’re not hiding,” I say. “And even if you are, I found you.” 

“Yeah,” she says, hands on her knees. She sighs. “It’s just a lot.” 

“What is?” 

“Everything.” 

I nod slowly, trying to digest this. “You’re gonna have to lay it out for me, babe,” I say. 

She takes a deep breath and looks towards the ceiling, fingernails scratching the fabric of her jeans. “My dad bringing up a wedding obviously wasn’t the first time I’ve thought about it,” she says. “But it was the first time  _ he _ said it. And him saying it made me think about my mom.” 

I nod again, this time understanding more fully. “Oh,” I say. 

“And…” Her sentence fragments as she turns to look out the window and blinks hard, willing away tears. “And… I don’t know. Thinking about a wedding without her there really, really kills me.” 

For a while, I don’t know what to say and I’m not sure if there’s anything that would fit. The silence feels wrong, though, so I reach forward and cap a hand over her knee as a comforting little gesture. “But what do you always say, though?” I ask, and she looks to me with curiosity. “She would be there. Even if you can’t see her, she would.” 

Her face grows blotchy as she presses her lips together. A myriad of emotions flood her features, all too overwhelming to name. “I don’t want it like that, though,” she says, smacking one hand down on her thigh. “I want to see her. I wanna hug her and hear her say that she’s proud of me. I want-” 

“April, you know she’s proud of you.” 

“Maybe, but I still want to hear her say it!” she sobs, then presses a finger under her nose. It must burn. “I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to yell.” 

“April?” There’s a small voice in the doorway and only then do I realize the sounds of the piano downstairs have stopped. Athena is standing there looking cautious, leaning on the doorframe with wide, worried eyes. “Are you okay?”

April sniffles and tries to appear composed, though it doesn’t quite work. “Yeah, babe,” she says, wiping under her eyes. “I’m fine.” 

“But you’re crying,” Athena says, padding into the room while keeping her eyes only on April. That is, until she reaches her and climbs onto her lap - then, she looks to me. “Did you make her cry, meanie?” 

“No,” I say. 

She leans into April and rests her head on her chest, arms slung around her neck. “Don’t be sad,” she says, petting April’s hair. “I promise, you don’t have to get married to Daddy ‘til you’re really, really ready.” That sentence tells me she’d been eavesdropping for a bit, but didn’t pick up the gist of the conversation. I let a small smirk creep onto my face, but I don’t let her see. “Okay?” she says. “Don’t be scared. You’re not gonna go away from me, are you?” 

“No,” April answers. “I’m staying right here.” 

“I want everything to stay the same,” Athena says. “Daddy, don’t talk about things that scare her. She doesn’t like it.”

“Alright,” I say, smiling gently. 

“April, just stay Daddy’s girlfriend,” Athena says. “If you’re scared about a wedding, then just don’t do it. I don’t like to do things that scare me, either. So, I just don’t.” 

“Okay,” April says, holding my daughter tight. “Thanks, baby.” 

…

We spend a while longer at Joe’s, and he apologizes for upsetting April but the conversation doesn’t go deeper than that because she doesn’t allow it to. It’s clear she’s done talking about the matter. She doesn’t hide in her shell for the rest of the afternoon, but she’s still not herself. On the long car ride home, both she and Athena fall asleep and leave me with a long stretch of road and the quiet radio. 

When we get home, I help Athena into bed and lock up the house, then go into our bedroom to find April already dressed down and under the covers. Her hair is in its typical bun, she’s wearing a pink camisole - she’s also looking at something in her hand, but I can’t tell what it is. I don’t ask; I just wash my face, brush my teeth, and get ready for bed myself before crawling in next to her, light still on. 

I don’t have to ask what she’s holding because she readily tells me. As soon as I get comfortable resting against the headboard, she turns to face me, legs folded over one another. “I was obsessed with weddings as a little kid,” she says. “But only my mom knew, not my dad. We would sometimes buy bridal magazines and cut out our favorite things from them. Dresses, flowers, venues… you know, all that stuff.” She hands me a worn, softened piece of paper that must have come from one of those magazines nearly 20 years ago. “This was the dress I always dreamed about,” she says. “And Mom loved it for me. I don’t necessarily like it all that much anymore - it’s too fluffy and the beads are overkill, but we always went on and on about the sleeves.” As she speaks, she traces a finger down the model’s arms, grown fragile and wrinkled with time. “The long sleeves, we thought they were so unique and beautiful.” She sighs and presses her palm against mine with the clipping in the middle, protecting it. “I don’t know why I wanted to share that with you, but I did.”

“Come here,” I say, then place one hand on her jaw. I give her a long, sweet kiss and she lingers near my face once it’s over, resting her forehead against mine. “Listen,” I say. “I love you.” 

“I know,” she whispers. “I love you, too.” 

“I mean… that because I love you, I would never try to rush you into anything. I don’t want to move insanely fast. Just because we’re gonna live together doesn’t mean we have to get married tomorrow and try for a baby next week.” 

She nods, hand still clasped in mine. “Okay,” she says quietly, features settling. She gets comfortable, lies down instead of sitting, and rests her head on my chest. With a flat hand over my stomach, she scoots closer and weaves her leg through both of mine, tangling us together. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and kiss her forehead, closing my eyes to take in the moment. “Okay,” she says again.

“Alright?” I say, rubbing her outer arm. “I don’t want you to get freaked out. The last thing I wanna do is scare you off.” 

“No, that wouldn’t happen,” she says, nuzzling her cheek against my shirt. “I just… I don’t know. It’s a lot to think about. And we are moving fast, you know? I mean, I love both of you so much. But that’s what scares me - how much I love you already.” 

“I know,” I say, lips moving against her hairline. We spend a bit longer in silence until I gather the courage to ask, “But is it something you’d want in the future? The wedding, the kids, the… everything. With me.” 

She tightens her arm around my waist and hugs me while letting out a long, cleansing breath. “Of course,” she says. 

“Okay,” I say, feeling my chest grow lighter. “Just making sure, because I definitely feel the same.” She nods and I pet her hair back, tracing the shell of her ear. “Are you still upset from earlier, about your mom?” I ask. 

She nods again, this time slower. “But there’s nothing I can do to fix it,” she says. “It’s not that I haven’t accepted that she’s gone. It’s been 17 years, of course I’ve… yeah. But on the other hand, sometimes it still doesn’t feel real. How did she not sit in the bathroom with me when I got my first period? How did she not help me get ready for senior prom? How was she not there at both of my graduations? And she won’t be here for my wedding, whenever it is. It just… it doesn’t seem right. It’s real, but it’s not right.” 

“No, of course it’s not,” I say, capping a hand over her shoulder. 

“I guess I just need to talk about it more,” she murmurs, slipping a hand beneath my shirt while moving her thumb in circles. “Talking about it is good. It makes me feel better.” She tips her head up to look in my eyes, and I crunch my neck to look back at her. “Do you mind? If I do that?” 

“Of course I don’t mind,” I say. “You don’t have to ask. You can talk to me about anything and everything.” 

“You’re always gonna listen like this?” she asks. 

“Always,” I say. 

A moment of pause passes over us as April pushes my shirt higher, and I let her. She likes my stomach for whatever reason, and the motion seems to comfort her. “I’m about to say something kind of scary,” she says. “For me. It’s scary for me to say it out loud.” 

“Alright.” 

“I want to do all that for Athena,” she says. “Be there for her. I want to be the woman in her life who she’ll never have to miss. I’ll sit with her in the bathroom. I’ll do her makeup for prom. I’ll hold the video camera at graduation. I’ll be at her wedding.” 

I smile, that same warm feeling radiating throughout my entire body. “Can I be there for the wedding, too?” I ask. “Or do you plan on going alone?” 

She smacks me softly, mood lightened. “Stop. You know what I mean,” she says. “I just wanna be there for her.” 

“She wants that, too,” I assure her. 

“I think she’s still scared I’m gonna leave,” April says. “I wanna prove to her that I’m not.” She looks up at me again. “And to you, too. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just… going slow.” 

“No one’s rushing you,” I say. 

“My dad seemed like he was,” she grumbles. 

I laugh a little. “Well, don’t worry about him. This is between you and me - Athena, too. Our family. And as far as I’m concerned, you should take all the time you need.” 

…

April’s attitude returns to its normal state quickly. We start having sex again, whereas we’d stopped for a couple weeks when she wasn’t feeling like herself. Right now, we’re in the private bathroom at The Whistler and Athena is with Maggie so we can have a night out. 

I’m thanking my lucky stars that this is a single stall with a locking door, because I have April’s skirt around her waist and the front of her body pressed up against the cool wall, fingers splayed out on either side of her head. “Go quick,” she breathes, leaning her forehead against the tiles. “I’m going on stage soon.” 

“I know,” I say, skimming my hands over her ass before squeezing it firmly. “Jesus Christ, you-”

“Have an amazing ass, yes,” she says, arching her back. “I know. Jackson, can you just fuck me? I’m wet right now and we don’t have time to waste.” 

“Well, damn,” I say, unzipping my pants and pushing them down to unearth my erection that started growing the minute she pulled me into this restroom. 

“Sorry,” she sighs. “But-” 

“No, don’t say sorry,” I say, sinking into her. “It’s fucking hot.”

“Oh,” she moans, fingers bending as she tries to grip the wall. “You like it when I get bossy?” 

“Yeah, I do,” I say, pitching my hips forward. I press my entire body into the back of hers, filling her completely as a broken, pitchy groan escapes her.

“Hold my neck, then,” she says, grappling for one of my hands. She brings it around so my thumb rests on one side of her neck with my four fingers on the other, squeezing slightly. “Like that,” she whimpers. 

“You like being choked?” I ask, and the question is meant as genuine, not to rile her up further. 

She doesn’t see it that way, though. “God, yes,” she says. “Choke me, baby.” 

“Fuck,” I moan, tightening my grip by just a bit - not too much. I don’t know a lot about breath play, but I don’t want to start too ambitious and make her pass out. That would be a fucking nightmare. “Jesus, fuck.”

My orgasm is close, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing given that we’re fucking in a public bathroom. I want her to get there first, though - so, with a hand wrapped around her neck, I use my free one to slip between her legs and rub rapid circles on her clit. Her knees begin to tremble and my hand on her neck goes the slightest bit tighter, and with that she comes entirely undone. Hearing the sounds she makes while feeling her body tighten is enough to push me over the edge, it always is, and I pull out swiftly as it starts. We hadn’t expected to fuck here tonight, so I didn’t bring condoms. She’s bent over with her palms on the wall still, ass bare, and I come all over her skin. The liquid runs over her reddened cheeks, drips down to her thighs all the way to the inside of her knees and lower to her calves. I can’t stop staring at it, put in a trance until she says, “Will you clean me up, please? I can’t really move.” 

I laugh to myself. “Fucked the life out of you?” 

She laughs, too, all breathy. “Before it gets on my shoes!” she insists. I tuck myself back into my pants and squat down after grabbing some toilet paper, then wipe up her legs with it. After she’s all clean - between her thighs, too - I pull her closer by the hips and kiss the round of her ass, which makes her moan. “You can’t start me up again,” she whines, turning around. But the new position only puts me at face-level with her core, tempting me even further. I take her waist in both hands and tilt her hips forward, prepared to eat her out, but she pushes me away by the forehead. “Jackson,” she says. “I can’t.”

“Fine,” I say, pulling her lace underwear up from around her ankles. They fit her perfectly - I bought them as a present just a few days ago. They’re black and tiny as hell. “But you’re all mine later.”

“Of course,” she says, adjusting her skirt back to where it’s supposed to go. “How’s my hair? Are people gonna know?” 

I stand up to my full height and smooth her tresses out in the way I know she likes. “Fix your lipstick,” I say. 

“You fix yours,” she says, reaching to thumb some off of my cheek. “Cheap whore.” 

“You’re so mean to me,” I say, chuckling as I watch her pull out her compact mirror to fix her makeup. When she’s finished, regrettably she looks as if I never laid a hand on her. 

“Alright,” she says. “Ready. I’ll go out first and you wait like, five minutes. Okay?” 

“Sure.” 

I do as she says and find my place in the audience after. April sounds beautiful as she always does, but there’s something extra radiant about her tonight. She seems more present, more alives as she sings her own rendition of Come Away With Me by Norah Jones. There’s a certain light in her eyes that tells me she’s doing what she loves and she’s happy with everyone watching her. I couldn’t be more proud of not only what she’s doing, but the fact that she’s mine.

After her set is over, she thanks the audience and disappears backstage. I get up to go to meet her where I usually do, only to find her not there. I wait for a bit, wondering if she got caught up in the dressing room, until I turn around and see her talking to a man in jeans and a dress shirt. Her face is unreadable, scarily placid, and her hands are clasped at the waist. He’s doing most of the talking - rambling on while using his hands to gesticulate, and she’s nodding and adding a few words in here and there. I frown with interest, wondering what could be going on, and catch her eye after the conversation is over. Before walking away, he handed her what looked like a small business card.

She heads over to me after tucking it away, clearly troubled. Her face is pale and she lost the vitality she had on stage - now, she looks diminished in the way she had a few days ago. It replaces the pit in my stomach that was never welcome in the first place. “Is everything okay?” I ask, wrapping an arm around her waist. 

“I’m ready to leave,” she says tersely. 

“Wait,” I say. “What about…? I thought we were having a date night. We haven’t even gone to eat yet.” 

“My stomach hurts,” she says, not even trying to act convincing. “I’m sorry, honey, but can we just go home?” She pauses for a moment, the expression in her eyes pleading. “I really want to go home.” 

I open my mouth, only a small sound coming out at first. But then, I say, “Sure. Of course. Let’s go.” 


	15. Chapter 15

**APRIL**

When we get in the car, the piece of paper is a brick inside my purse. It’s stewing in there, radiating heat, waiting for me to do something. I pretend it doesn’t exist, though, at least for right now. I don’t want to think about it.

I may not want it on my mind, but as much is impossible. I can still remember the eager look in the representative’s eyes when he said Dangerbird Records would love to offer me a deal. He wanted to sign me right then, but I shut him down and said I needed time to think about it. I don’t need time at all, really; I already know my answer. The only way I can create music with them is if I move two thousand miles to Los Angeles, away from everything I’ve ever known. And I’m not doing that.

I stare out the window, faced away from Jackson though I can feel his emotions very clearly. Curiosity mixed with frustration. He’s not good at hiding them. They don’t necessarily show on his face, but his body reads like a book. He’s tense, rigid, everything is clenched as he grips the wheel like it might fly off at any moment. I got us out of The Whistler quickly without bothering to tell him why, which I’m sure has unsettled him. I couldn’t tell him the reason, though. If I did, he wouldn’t have let us leave. He would have asked to talk to the guy, and I didn’t want that. I can handle my own business without other people - even people I love - poking their nose into it.

I’m angry with myself for not turning the rep down right away. I should’ve looked him in the eyes and given a clear ‘no, thank you.’ What he was offering isn’t something I want. I don’t want a new life when I’m in the process of getting settled into something good here. I don’t like California and its year-round warmth, I like Chicago and the snow. I don’t want to be part of the ultra-modern, ultra-chic scene in LA, trying to keep up with everyone else in the business. That’s not me and it never has been.

Though, at one point, I thought it could be. I pictured myself walking under rows of palm trees, dressed in short denim shorts with sunglasses on, signing pictures for fans. That’s a faraway memory back when I was a kid and didn’t really understand what being a celebrity meant, but still. At one point, that’s what I dreamed of. It’s not my dream anymore, though. My life has changed; changed for the better. Just because something that seems amazing was offered to me on a silver platter doesn’t mean the grass is greener on the other side. I would miss my home. I would miss my people. I would miss the life I’ve just begun to cultivate. I would miss the person I am here, the person I’m getting to know more and more each day. Who knows what I would turn into out there? I would lose everything. The loss is so much heavier than the gain, though the gain may be tempting.

I’d be singing for a living. I’d be getting paid to make albums. I’d be performing onstage for big audiences if my stuff did well. It used to seem so unattainable, but now the key to that world is sitting in my purse - burning a hole in the fabric. And I plan on throwing it away.

I won’t regret it when I do. Right here is where I want to be and I’m sure of it as we pull into the garage and everything goes quiet. “Coming in,” Jackson mutters, unbuckling his seatbelt as he must notice I haven’t moved.

“Oh,” I say, shaking myself out of a trance. “Yeah.”

We walk through the back door to find Maggie at the kitchen counter with a piece of toast. She jumps upon our arrival, eyes wide as we come through the living room. “God, you scared me,” she says. “You’re back early. It’s not even 10 yet.”

“Yep,” Jackson says, breezing past her. He walks through the kitchen then drops his shoes in the closet. “Gonna go check on Athena. Thanks for staying, Maggie.”

“Uh-huh…” Maggie says, squinting at the spot he vacated as he disappears up the stairs. “Damn. What’s up with him?”

“Nothing,” I say, trying to write it off as I step out of my heels.

“He’s acting like a piss-baby, so it’s gotta be something,” Maggie replies with a laugh. “He gets so sulky. It’s hilarious. I used to push his buttons all the time when we were kids. He’d always tell on me.”

I smirk a little. “He’s just mad at me for making us leave early,” I say.

“Yeah, why are you even home right now?” she asks. “Just couldn’t wait to get in that whiny baby’s pants?”

“I don’t feel very well,” I say, pressing a hand against my stomach for effect.

She frowns, looking alarmed. “You aren’t pregnant, are you?” she asks.

My face flushes a brilliant red. I know, because the way it heats up is startling. “I - no,” I stammer, avoiding her eyes. I don’t like being put on the spot, especially over something so sensitive. “Just feeling a little icky.”

“I’m sure you can make it up to him,” she says. “In other ways, if you know what I mean.”

My blush remains. I really don’t want to talk about this with Jackson’s sister, of all people. “Well, I don’t know now,” I say.

“I’m sorry, I can see I’m making you uncomfortable,” she laughs. “We don’t really have boundaries in our family. You learn to get used to it.”

“Yeah,” I say nervously,

“Well, since you’re home, I might as well get out of here,” she says, standing up. I walk her to the door and hand her a $50 bill that was on the counter, but she refuses it. “No, no,” she says. “Thena’s my niece. You don’t have to pay me to watch her.”

“Yes, we do,” I say. “Please, just take it.”

“April, no,” Maggie says. “Family doesn’t do that. Chill, okay? Your face is all flushed. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” I say.

She reaches to take my hand, squeezing my fingers slightly. “I’m saying this as your sister,” she whispers, eyes darting towards the stairs to make sure they’re empty. “Take a pregnancy test.”

“What?” I say, smiling uncomfortably.

“It’s not an insult. You just look… just do it, okay? Just to shut me up.”

“Sure,” I say. “But really, Maggie, don’t worry. Thank you for coming tonight. It means a lot. Even if it didn’t work out.”

“Anytime,” she says. “All Thena did was play the piano ‘til she passed out. Hanging out with her is easier than it’s ever been.”

She gives me a hug before walking out and I turn around slowly, shutting off the lights downstairs before going up. I take my time knowing Jackson is pissed that our night was cut short, then find him on the bed wearing his reading glasses, thumbing through a magazine. “Maggie left,” I tell him, hovering in the doorway of the bathroom.

“Alright.”

“Are you ready to go to sleep?” I ask.

“It’s still early,” he says, then lifts the magazine slightly. “Just reading.”

“Okay,” I say, but as I disappear into the bathroom I have a plan in mind. I know it’s my fault he’s angry; we’ve both been looking forward to a night out for a while. It was supposed to free our minds and help to let go of the hard week we had, but it seemed to accomplish the complete opposite. “I’ll be out in a minute,” I call.

“Take your time.”

I rifle through the drawers on my side of the closet until I find something Jackson bought me just a few nights ago. It’s from the same day he bought the black lace underwear I’m wearing now, but what I hold in my hands is a full set. It’s light pink, lacy, and see-through in a sort of sophisticated way. When I put it on, I’ve never felt sexier. I’ve never been interested in lingerie before, but I had no idea how alluring it’d make me feel. I fluff my hair in the mirror, put on a little lip gloss and adjust my breasts before opening the door to present myself to him.

Instantly, his eyes lift and he can’t tear them away from me. “I wanna make tonight up to you,” I say, crawling towards him on the bed. “I made us come home early. I’m sorry. But I promised you could have me later, and… it’s later now.” I take the magazine out of his hands and settle on his lap; the erection poking me in the thigh gives him away. “I love what you bought for me,” I say as he skims his hands over my sides. “Thank you.”

He nods, still taking me in. He reaches to squeeze my breasts as they’re at face level, but then looks into my eyes. “You know, I don’t expect this,” he says, voice still a bit clipped. “If you’re trying to placate me or repay me, or something.”

“I know,” I say, gathering his shirt to pull it over his head. I press myself closer and drape my arms over his shoulders, running my hands down his back. His skin his warm and his heart beats steadily in his chest, reverberating through his skin onto mine. I kiss the round of his shoulder and he sighs against me, loosening. “I want to.”

His hands map the expanse of my back as he drags his fingernails over my skin, squeezing in all the right places. I move my hips rhythmically against his, getting him harder with each passing second, and he sighs against my chest. “This looks fucking amazing on you,” he breathes.

“You know me well,” I say before kissing him hard. I hold his face in both hands and open my mouth, tilting my head to the side. His tongue presses against mine and his teeth come down on my lower lip possessively, fingers digging into my sides. “Mmm,” I moan as he grabs my ass. “Harder, baby,” I mutter against his mouth.

He brings his hand down and smacks me, which makes my body jolt. I smile into our unbroken kiss and he does the same while rubbing the spot he just hit. “I don’t wanna wait,” he says, hands on my breasts again. He can’t seem to find a place to land - he wants to touch me everywhere. I want that, too.

“Undress me, then,” I say, pulling back. He watches me with sultry eyes and parted lips, chest heaving as he leans against the headboard and winds his arms around my back. He takes the bra off and pulls me in after doing so, attacking my chest with open-mouthed, wet kisses. I hold his head close and shudder when he sucks on my nipples roughly. They’re so sensitive, and the way he touches them sends shockwaves through my entire body. I feel like I could come from this alone if he doesn’t stop. “Oh, god, your mouth,” I moan, digging my nails into the back of his neck. “Shit, Jackson.”

He slips a hand between my legs, over the lacy underwear that don’t offer much of a barrier at all. He rubs me hastily, quick and sloppy as I shove my hips against his hand. I’m already at the brink, but just as I’m about to unwind, the movement of his hand stops. “I’m so fucking hard,” he says. “I gotta fuck you right now.”

I stand up to take the underwear off, then yank his sweatpants down his thighs so they pool around his ankles. I don’t have the patience to get them to the floor - I want him that badly. Without waiting, I sink onto his dick while bracing my hands on his stomach, eyelashes fluttering. “Oh, shit,” I moan, squatting down only to pull back up and off. I lower myself again, this time all the way, maneuvering my legs so my knees rest on the mattress. He bends his and I rest against his thighs, bending back to do so, and he keeps one hand on my stomach as my hips begin to gyrate.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groans, scooping his pelvis up to jostle me a bit.

“Shit,” I say, fixing my hair.

He holds onto my waist, urging me forward. “You gonna ride me, baby?” he asks, heady lust in his eyes.

My inner muscles contract around him and I involuntarily twitch because of it. “Yeah,” I say, leaning forward to kiss him messily. He lets his legs straighten out and I flatten on top of him, back arched, moving my hips in a slow and calculated manner. “Yeah, I am.”

“Fuck…” he moans, reaching to grab two handfuls of my ass. “God damn it, April.”

I sit up and start moving faster, feeling the muscles in his abdomen tighten. I curl my fingers against his skin and bring his hands up to my breasts, and he gets the picture immediately. He grips them hard, tweaking the nipples, and I bite my lip to keep my cries at bay. I keep working at him, thrusting as thoroughly and smoothly as I can until his body jerks and hips buck, knocking me around as he comes.

I lift off right away, his semen dripping over my lips, thighs, and his dick. I sit on his stomach, panting and waiting for my orgasm while trying to get my thoughts straight. “We forgot a condom again,” I breathe. “We can’t keep doing that.”

With clearer eyes and most likely a clearer head, he looks at me with concern. “April,” he says. “I thought we were done with the secret-keeping bullshit.”

I give him a confused look and turn my head to the side, eyes squinted. “What are you talking about? The condom?” I ask.

“No,” he says. “I know something happened at The Whistler and you’re not telling me what it is.”

“Wait, hold up,” I say. “You decided to bring this up after you had your orgasm, but you couldn’t wait until I had mine?” I roll my eyes. “That’s not… no. I was almost there. Just because you came doesn’t mean we can have this serious talk now.”

“So, you’re just not gonna talk to me?”

“I’ll talk to you after you make me come,” I snap. “It’s common courtesy, Jackson. You always make sure I have an orgasm. What is going on with you?”

“The fact that you’re keeping shit from me again,” he says. “That’s what’s going on.”

“I’m not,” I say.

He lifts me off of his stomach and lays me flat, spreading my legs as he makes his way down my body. He presses my thighs apart with two hands and opens his mouth wide on my already-swollen core, keeping firm eye contact while he works me up. He buries his face inside my heat and keeps my legs from closing in on him, forcing me to stay open so he can uncover my clit and suck on it.

“Oh, fuck,” I moan involuntarily, tossing my head back. My hips knock against his face, but he only goes harder until I’m a shaking, soaked mess. “Fuck,” I breathe, trembling from my orgasm as he licks his lips and wipes his face with the back of his hand. I lie there for a while, exposed and spent, as I catch my breath. And then, I turn my head to look at him without moving any other part of my body. “I wasn’t keeping anything from you because there’s nothing to tell,” I say, gaze roving from his eyes to his limp, but still impressive, penis. “Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“I’d still like to know what’s going on,” he says. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I sigh and stand up, wrapping myself in a robe that I keep on the bedpost. I tie it tightly around my waist as he pulls on a pair of boxers, then sit back on the bed with folded legs. “A representative from Dangerbird Records came up to me after my set. Said he’s had his eye on me for a while and that they’d like to sign me. They want to move me out to LA so I can start working on an EP, or whatever.” I shrug with emphasis. “He gave me his business card, but I’m gonna turn him down.”

“Why are you being ‘whatever’ about this?” he asks. “Number one, you sound sixteen. Number two, isn’t that your dream? What you’ve been chasing since you were a kid?”

“Yes, it’s what I wanted to do when I was little, but it’s not what I want anymore,” I say.

“That’s not true,” he says. “Why would you sing at The Whistler if it’s not what you want to do?”

“Singing is fun for me,” I say. “It’s therapeutic.”

“It might be, but it’s also more than that,” he says. “It’s your passion. Why would you turn down getting paid for your passion? April, do you hear yourself right now?”

“See, this is why I didn’t wanna tell you,” I say, curling my hair behind my ear. “You don’t get it.”

“Yes, I do,” he says. “I’m looking at it from an outsider’s point of view and I can see what a mistake you’re making. You didn’t already turn him down, did you?”

“No, but I’m going to.”

“If you really wanted to do it, why didn’t you say no right away?” he asks. “Why wait?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t have all the answers for you. But I’m gonna do it tomorrow. We already have a meeting set up.”

“What’s wrong with saying yes?” he asks.

“Everything!” I respond. “Literally everything. It would change my whole life, doing this. I’m not uprooting, I’m not going out there and coming back on weekends. I’m not - I’m not doing that. I’m just not. I promised Athena just the other day that nothing would change, that I’d always be here. I don’t break my promises, Jackson, you know that.”

“Athena would understand,” he says.

“Do you know your daughter at all?” I ask. “No, she wouldn’t understand!”

“In time, yes she would.”

“I don’t want anything to happen ‘in time,’” I say. “I promised I’d be there for her _now_ , not in a year when I get a break. And then the break is what, a few months? Then I’d have to go back. I’m not doing that, I’m not messing up our lives just so I can go make music. I can do that here. I already am.”

“But you’re not getting paid,” he says.

I cross my arms defensively. “Is that why you want me to say yes?” I ask. “Because money matters to you. Because you want me to pull my weight.”

“That’s not it at all,” he says. “Please, don’t put words in my mouth. It would be nice for _you_ if you could make money from it. You would have a better income, feel independent again. I know that matters to you, that’s the only reason I say it.”

“I’ll find something here,” I say. “I’ll get another job. I’m not moving to LA, Jackson. I’m not letting them sign me.”

“Why are you being so goddamn stubborn?” he asks. “You’re being stupid by throwing this away, you know that? It’s a stupid, rash decision.”

My blood boils. “You think me putting your family first is stupid?” I spit.

“We’re your family, too,” he volleys back. “We’ve already been over this.”

“Then you just proved my point,” I say. “You guys are my family. Why would I want to move across the country and leave my family? You need me. Athena needs me. I can’t just… go. I can’t do it, and I won’t.”

“You’re being irrational,” he says, shaking his head. He throws his hands up. “What, do you expect another opportunity like this to come along one day when you’re ready?”

“Maybe,” I say petulantly.

“You’ll never feel ready, April, and that’s the hard truth,” he says. “What if another rep comes to you in 7 years, when Athena is 15? She’ll be at a place where she’d be okay if you left, but how about our second child? How old will they be? Young. You won’t be able to leave them. There’s always gonna be an excuse. It’s never gonna feel like the right time.”

“I get that,” I say. “Maybe it’s not what I want at all. Is it so wrong to want to stay here and raise my family? Why are you condemning that?”

“Because it’s not what you really want,” he argues.

“You don’t know what I really want,” I say. “You don’t live inside my head. You can’t read my mind.”

“I know you don’t want to play piano at my father’s restaurant and sing in bars for the rest of your life,” he says. “I know you don’t want to be stuck at home with a baby on your hip, missing out on the one thing you always dreamed of.”

“I’ve been dreaming about a family,” I insist. “Why don’t you get that? Not everything is about work, about business, about money.” I shake my head. “I thought you got past this. I guess not.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “It’s not about money. It’s about your passion, what you love to do.”

“I love being here!” I say. “I love Chicago, I love my life. I want to stay. I made a promise to Athena, and I don’t want things to change. I’m finally reaching a place where I’m happy, and doing something to hurt that scares me. I won’t do that to myself.”

“It’s complacency,” he says, lips tight. “You’re settling.”

“I’m putting our daughter first!” I say, realizing the words I used only after they pass my lips. I cover my mouth with my hand and look away, having no desire to see the look on his face. “I’m sorry,” I mutter. “You know what I mean. I’m putting Athena first.”

“I can put her first for a few years,” he says. “While you go do this for yourself.”

“No,” I say. “I don’t want that. I want to do it together, me and you. I want to live life _together_. You want that, too, I know you do.”

“Of course I do,” he says.

“Then why are you pushing me?” I ask.

“How many times do I have to say it?” he says. “I want you to follow your dream. I don’t want you to look back on this one day in ten, fifteen years and wish you would’ve just taken the plunge. Because by then, there will be nothing you can do to change it.”

“What would you do without me here?” I say, on the verge of tears.

“I’m not an unfit parent, April,” he growls. “I raised her on my own for 7 years.”

“She was unhappy, Jackson,” I say, voice wobbling. “She needs me. I’m not saying you’re a bad father, you know I don’t think that, but Athena needs _me_. And it’s not just that. I need her, too. I need both of you. I just need to be here, and I need you not to push me. I already made up my mind. Whether or not you agree… I’m sorry, but I made my choice. And I’m not doing it.”

He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t make the decision so quickly.”

“Well, I already did,” I say. “And I’m meeting with him tomorrow to tell him no. It’ll be short, I’ll have time to get to Athena’s recital.”

His eyes move around like he’s checking his internal calendar, which tells me he forgot her performance tomorrow. He doesn’t say it out loud - he doesn’t have to. “There’ll be more recitals,” he says. “I’m gonna be there. You can extend your meeting if you need to.”

“I don’t need to,” I say. “It’s gonna be quick.”

He sighs, giving up on the conversation. I get out of bed to change yet again, first cleaning up and then dressing in soft, warm pajamas. I don’t look at him as I crawl under the covers, and I face the window once I lie down. In an effort to get comfortable, he turns on his side and wraps an arm around my waist, but I lift it off. I’m too frustrated to stand his touch tonight, no matter how ritual or benign it is. I need to be separate from him. He sighs, annoyed, and turns to face the other way. “Alright, April,” he mutters, but I don’t respond.

My stomach grows upset with nerves as the hours pass without sleep. I can’t stop thinking about our fight and what it’ll look like in the morning, and also how the meeting with the rep will go. I work myself into such an anxious frenzy that I hurry out of bed around 3am and fall to my knees on the bathroom floor, emptying everything I had to eat into the toilet. I rest my cheek against the cool seat after I’m finished, wiping my mouth with some toilet paper, and close my eyes. I don’t have any fight left, but there’s still a battle going on inside my head.

…

The next day, I get up early. I rise before there’s any activity in the house, as Jackson is still unconscious beside me, turned onto the same side he fell asleep on. We didn’t touch each other all night, which is very unusual for us. I usually always seek him out in sleep and he does the same. But last night, apparently even our unconscious minds knew we were at odds with each other.

I put on my tennis shoes and head out the front door, planning on a walk to the pharmacy as the sun comes up. I don’t want to take the car because it’s too conspicuous. Not that I’m sneaking, because I’m not. This is just an errand that I’d prefer not to answer questions about, especially if it turns out to be nothing. I’m taking Maggie’s advice, though I already have an inkling of what the result will be. I want to be wrong more than anything, but I’m trying not to think about it. I’ve been doing my best not to worry until there’s something to worry about. But all that mindset has caused me to do is put off knowing.

I’ve had the suspicion for a week or so, nothing more. Sometimes, Jackson and I mess up. Sometimes, we do things in the heat of the moment and don’t think until it’s too late - just like last night. We try to be as responsible as we can, but mistakes happen. We don’t mean for them to, but they do anyway.

I’m the first and only one in the store when I walk in, which only elevates my nerves. I wring my hands as I make my way through the aisles, wandering like I don’t know the exact brand of what I’m here for. I turn down offers for help, claiming I’m only browsing. But that claim is debunked as soon as I approach the checkout counter with a kit in hand. No one ‘just browsing’ buys a ClearBlue test and a pack of gum. I can’t make eye contact with the cashier as I put my items on the counter, and luckily she doesn’t try and make small talk. I’m not sure how capable I’d be of responding in a manner that’s human.

When I get home, the house is still quiet, which works in my favor. I kick off my shoes and head into Athena’s bathroom - mostly because I don’t want to risk Jackson walking in on me without warning. I lock the door and triple check it, then sit on the toilet with my pants around my ankles, staring at my thighs and the unopened box that rests on them. “Shit,” I say aloud. “Shit, shit, shit.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It takes a while to work up any courage. I don’t know how much time passes where the box sits on my bare lap, doing nothing. I have my eyes cemented on it as if I’m waiting for it to make a move, but of course it doesn’t. My legs go numb and my ass gets cold before I realize I have to take it, but I don’t have to pee anymore.

I reach for one of Athena’s Dixie cups and fill it with water, drinking it like a shot. I laugh at myself, but it’s not enough water to make anything happen. I keep the faucet on and lose count of how many cups I drink, making some sort of game with myself on how fast I can load up my bladder.

“Daddy says not to play in the faucet.”

“Jesus!” I shout, one hand to my chest. Athena’s voice sounds from outside the door, coming from nowhere. I hadn’t heard her walk up, nor do I know how long she’s been there. “Athena, what in the world are you doing?”

“Daddy says not to play in the water,” she says. “Don’t waste it. It’s not good for the earth.”

“I know,” I say. “How long have you been there?”

“I’m awake and I need to go potty now. Are you done?”

“Um… almost,” I say, looking at the untouched box. “I just need a few more minutes.”

“Are you going number two?” she asks. I open my mouth to answer while trying not to laugh, but she’s not done. “There’s a special spray on the back of the toilet. Don’t make it smell bad in there, ‘cause then I’m gonna have to be going potty while it stinks.”

“No… I’m not going number two,” I say.

“Then what’s taking you so long?”

I sigh and open the box, knowing I can’t dawdle any longer. “I’m going,” I say.

“What are you opening?” she asks. “Daddy yelled at me for sneaking candy in the bathroom. How come you can eat in there and I can’t?”

“I’m not eating,” I say with shaking hands, trying to read the directions. “Athena, can I have a little privacy please?”

“You do have privacy,” she says. “I’m outside the door. If you’re not eating, why did I hear you open something?”

“Athena, I mean privacy as in… can you stop talking to me?” I say, trying to be as gentle as possible. “I can’t go when you’re talking. And if you wanna get in here, I have to go.”

“Fine,” she says. “But don’t take forever. I don’t wanna use yours and Daddy’s bathroom. I don’t like sitting on the toilet that Daddy’s butt sits on.”

I listen to her footsteps walk away and try to focus on the small text on the piece of paper in my hands. The letters run together because of how nervous I am, so I give up and stick the test between my legs once I feel the need to pee, then finally let go. I hold it gingerly and try not to get anything on myself, then set it on a few sheets of toilet paper that have been resting on the sink. I wipe, pull up my pants, then sit on the closed toilet lid with my hands sandwiched between my knees, looking everywhere but the ClearBlue test. The simultaneous urge to know the result right away while never knowing it is too much to bear. There are too many thoughts running through my head to decipher a single one, so I don’t try. I let my head go numb and my eyes zone out on a specific spot on the wall - that is, until I hear Athena’s voice again.

“Are you done _yet_?” she nags. “I really think you’re going number two and you just don’t wanna say.”

I jump up and shove the test into my pocket, crumpling the box in my hand so all the evidence is on me. “I’m done now,” I say, washing my hands. “I’m coming out.”

I open the door and she’s standing there in her thermal pajamas, bonnet on, hands planted on her hips. “Finally,” she says, nudging past me to get inside. “I almost peed my pants ‘cause of you, toilet hogger.”

She smiles as she says it, expecting me to laugh, but all I can muster up is a watery smile. She closes the door and I stand there staring at it for a beat before turning around, contraband in tow. I nearly jump out of my skin when I see Jackson in the hallway, shirtless and scratching the back of his neck. “Morning,” he says groggily.

“Hey,” I respond.

He eyes me strangely. “Y’alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I lie. “Fine.”

“You sure about that?”

I chew the inside of my lip and have a hard time looking him in the eyes. “Uh, just thinking about last night,” I say.

“Yeah. Me, too,” he says. “Has your stance changed at all?”

“No,” I say.

“Hmm.”

Then, Athena bursts out of the bathroom and smiles upon seeing the both of us. “There you are, daddy!” she says. “April just took forever and ten days inside my bathroom and I thought I was gonna have to go all the way downstairs. I made it, though.” She points her finger at me “No more hogging my bathroom! You use your own, the one you share with Daddy. I don’t know why you wanna share with him, since he’s a yucky man, but you already chose it. So! You can’t use mine.”

“Alright, bossy,” Jackson says lightly. “Leave her alone.”

“Why’re you standing out here not talking, anyway?” she asks, watching us curiously. “Are you keeping secrets from me?”

“No,” I say, maybe a bit too quickly.

“Good. Then can we have breakfast now?”

…

I leave after spending time with Athena picking out a recital dress. She’s 8, so she won’t need any makeup, and Jackson is always in charge of her hair. So, once my work is done, I get ready to leave for my meeting with the representative. “April, wait!” Athena calls from the top of the stairs. When I look back, I see that half of her hair is done and the other half is left in curls. She’s wearing a pair of tights and a camisole, still unfinished. “Where are you even going? It’s not time for my recital yet.”

“I know, sweets,” I say, one hand on the doorknob. “I’m-”

“Thena,” Jackson calls from her bedroom, his voice far away. “Come back. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Daddy, April’s leaving! Is it time to go right now?”

“No,” he answers. “Not yet. She’s got somewhere to be.”

“You aren’t gonna be late, are you?” Athena asks worriedly.

“No,” I promise her.

“Honey, if she misses one performance, it’s not the end of the world,” Jackson says.

“Yes, it actually will be!” Athena insists. “This is my very first one ever.” She looks at me desperately. “You _have_ to be there.”

“I will,” I say. “I’ll be right on time, I swear. I just have an errand to run.”

“Okay, ‘cause you’re already in fancy clothes. That’s good, that means you don’t have to come back and change here.”

“Exactly,” I say. “I’ll be there, and I love you. Alright?”

“I love you most, most,” she says, blowing me a kiss before turning around and scurrying back to her room where Jackson is.

I leave the house and walk down the steps quickly with a knot in my stomach. I try and take deep breaths on the way to Starbucks where we said we would meet, but it does nothing for the tension in my chest and shoulders. I’m independent, I know I can do this, but right now it really doesn’t feel like I can.

I make it to the coffee shop in one piece, though, blustering through the door to spot the rep - Mark Sloan - right away. He’s at a table with his laptop open, which he closes upon seeing me. “April Skye,” he says, standing to shake my hand. “Nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, you too,” I say with a weak smile.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he says. “I appreciate you taking the time to think over my offer.” He smiles widely, warmly. “Would you like to order something? I’ve already had my fair share of coffee, else I would definitely get something else.”

“No… no, I’m fine,” I say, sitting down across from him. “Thank you.”

“Well, alrighty then,” he says. “Let’s jump right into it, eh? No use wasting time.”

“Right,” I say, nodding slightly. “Um, Mr. Sloan, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to turn down your offer.”

Confusion passes over his features and he does nothing to hide it. He flashes an uncomfortable grin and leans forward, blinking rapidly. “You’ll have to explain further,” he says. “Is someone else vying for you?”

“No,” I say. “It’s just… it’s not what I’m looking for right now. Right now, the the stage of life I’m in.”

He sits back, tipping his head to one side. “Stage of life?” he repeats. “You’re young, singing in a bar at night. What about securing a record deal would be detrimental to your ‘stage of life?’” he asks.

“That’s not all I do,” I say. “I also play the piano for a restaurant downtown.”

“Okay…” he says, and the squint tells me he still doesn’t get it. “Let me get this straight. You’d rather stay in Chicago and play lounge piano instead of moving to LA, where you’re already promised a record deal and an EP?”

“Yeah,” I say, though I can tell my answer is weak.

He shakes his head. “Is there someone who’s trying to keep you from this?” he says.

“No,” I say instantly. “No, not at all. Actually, it’s pretty much the opposite. My… my boyfriend, he’s really supportive. He wants me to take your offer.”

“Then why aren’t you?” Mr. Sloan asks. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be confrontational. I’m just not used to this type of response from a potential client.”

“It just… it’s not what I want right now,” I say, folding and refolding my hands in my lap.

“What do you mean?” he presses, which causes me to close my eyes while trying not to let my frustration boil over.

“I mean,” I say, opening my eyes to make my point. “That I’m pregnant.”

…

I walk into the performance hall where Athena’s piano recital is being held and see the back of Jackson’s head instantly, an empty chair beside him. I hurry down the aisle and slide into the row, letting out a long breath as I get settled. “You made it,” he says under his breath, still facing forward.

“Yep,” I say. “Just like I said I would.”

“I know,” he says. “Just didn’t know if the meeting would run over.”

“It didn’t.”

“For our next performance, we’d like to welcome a very new but very, very talented member of our school!” a woman says, poised at the microphone. “Please, let’s give a big round of applause for Miss Athena Avery!”

With a big smile, Athena walks out wearing the dress we picked out earlier from her closet. The top half is black velvet with long sleeves, and the skirt is red satin with black designs along the trim. She’s wearing black tights and shiny shoes, almost as shiny as her eyes as she waves to the crowd. And when she looks to me, she waves even harder and mouths ‘hi!’ Of course, I wave back.

“Athena will be playing three pieces for us today. First, Ballade by Debussy. Then, Clair de Lune by Debussy, and she’ll finish up with Suite en La: Courante by Rameau. Please, enjoy!”

Overwhelming pride surges in my chest seeing Athena get settled on the bench and prop her wrists in a way I never taught her. She’s learning so much, so many new techniques, from so many new people. She’s allowing herself to learn.

I look to my left and let my eyes graze over her father’s profile, stoic yet beaming as he watches his daughter. I take a deep breath and tell myself that, no matter how much it doesn’t feel like it right now, everything will be okay. That’s what I have to believe.

Subtly, I reach for Jackson’s hand and twine our fingers together, mine on top. He looks over with his eyebrows furrowed, and I flash a small, nearly sad, smile in return. I give his fingers a squeeze and he doesn’t move away. He keeps our hands right where they are.

I force myself not to worry about the future. Right here, in this moment, I’m listening to Athena play songs that I introduced her to. Whatever’s going to happen will happen, but for right now the sounds of the piano are all that matter.


	16. Chapter 16

**JACKSON**

When the recital is over and it’s time to leave the performance hall, April unwinds our hands and gets to her feet. “You coming?” she asks. 

“Yep,” I say, waiting as people pass through the aisle. I stand behind her, one hand on the dip of her waist, and she allows it. Even though we’re not on the best terms, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to touch her. She didn’t want it last night, but apparently she’s not against it today. There are a lot of people going by, so as she waits she leans subtly back against my chest and I drop a kiss to her hair.

I walk into the lobby with a hand on the small of her back, waiting for Athena to surface. I hear her voice among the throngs of people, shouting in that familiar, tinny soprano. “Daddy! April! Daddy! April!” she choruses. 

“Hey, prodigy!” I say, plastering a smile on my face. She bounds into my arms and I swing her around, letting her legs fly. “You sounded amazing. You played your songs so beautifully.” 

“Not my songs,” she says, then points to April. “April’s! She’s the one who taught me them. I wanted to play those ones for my first recital, not ones I learned at this school. Just ‘cause they’re special.”

“You’re so sweet,” April says, and Athena reaches over to be held by her instead of me. April takes my little girl on her hip so she can give her a big hug and kiss, always so natural. “You had such a big stage presence up there. You commanded the whole room. Every single pair of eyes was on you. And they didn’t look away the whole time.” 

“I didn’t even make one single, tiny mistake,” Athena says, speaking close to April’s face with wide eyes. “Did you notice?” 

“Of course I noticed,” April says, grinning. “I didn’t think you would mess up. But you know, it would be okay if you did.” 

“Yeah, but I won’t,” Athena says, wrapping her arms around April’s neck for a hug. “I love, love, love you!” she squelches, squeezing tight.

“Let her breathe,” I say lightly, one hand on Athena’s back. “You’re choking her, baby.” 

She pulls away and holds April’s cheeks in both hands, looking at her with worry in her eyes. “Can you breathe now?” she asks. 

“I can,” April laughs. “And I love you. Your daddy loves you, too.” 

“I sure do,” I say, planting a kiss to the side of her head. “We’re so proud of you, Thena.” 

“I’m proud of me, too!” Athena says, chest puffing out.

I can’t help but smile as the joy radiates off of her in waves. A mixture of both the piano and April’s presence has put her in such a different place than where she used to be. Looking at her, I know Myla would be proud of the child she is and the personality she’s finding her way into. I’ve never seen this side - the silly, gleeful, boisterous side. The only Athena I ever knew was withdrawn, sullen and quick-tempered. I didn’t know the core of who my daughter was for the longest time. A flicker of guilt lights in my stomach, but I tell myself that at least the unearthing happened when it did. It could have taken much longer or never happened at all.

“How about we go out for dinner?” April suggests. “To celebrate?” 

“Yeah!” Athena cheers, arms in the air. “Out to dinner, out to dinner! Can we go to Homeslice? Please, please, please?” 

“Pizza sounds good,” April agrees, then looks to me. “What does Dad think?” 

Dinner out isn’t what I had in mind, admittedly. I’m mentally exhausted from mine and April’s fight and what we still have left to settle. Nothing has been resolved yet. We didn’t go to sleep having reached an armistice. I know she knows that, too, but she must be trying to look past it for Athena’s sake. “Sure,” I say, trying not to sound as disillusioned as I feel. Athena deserves my whole heart put into making sure she has a good night. She had a wonderful performance and deserves as much. It would be wrong to deprive her of a celebration simply because I’m not feeling up for it. “Let’s go.” 

On a Sunday night, the hip restaurant is slower than normal, which I’m grateful for. It’s in the college neighborhood of Lincoln Park, and on any other night it would be loud and full of young people. Not tonight, though. Tonight, we’re one of few guests and the ambience is nice. “I’m getting a Shirley Temple,” Athena says, leading the way inside as she greets the hosts. “One table for three people, please!”

We’re seated at a booth, and April and Athena sit on one side with me on the other. “You’re gonna leave me all alone over here?” I say, pretending to be sad. 

“Daddy…” Athena says, clinging to April’s arm. “This is the girls’ only side.” 

“Yeah, daddy,” April chimes in, weaving an arm around Athena’s shoulders. “You aren’t allowed over here.” 

I chuckle and shake my head then look at the menu, deciding with Athena what we should order. Usually, April would be decently talkative, but tonight she doesn’t have much to say. Noticing the change, Athena takes it upon herself to control the conversation. “Everyone else was talking in the dressing room before the recital started,” she says, putting her crayons in a line. “But not me. I didn’t get in trouble like everyone else. They got yelled at by Miss Leah, everyone except for me.” 

“Lucky you,” April says, not looking up from the menu. 

“Why’re you still reading?” Athena asks, peering around into her face. “We already chose our pizza. I’m gonna say it to the waiter.” 

“Just browsing,” April says. 

“You wanna get a beer?” I ask, catching her attention. “I usually like what they have on tap.” 

“Um, no thanks,” April says, meeting my eyes for only half a second before closing her menu. 

“You sure?” I ask. “I can get the waiter back here.”

“No, I’m okay” she says. “Really. Thanks, though.” 

“Alright,” I say. “I think I’ll order one, though.” 

We get our drinks - Athena successfully scoring her Shirley Temple, me with my draft, and April gets only water. “April,” Athena says, eyebrows pushed together. “We’re having a celebration for me. Why did you get only water? That’s so boring and not fun.”

April takes a sip for emphasis. “It’s all that sounded good to me tonight,” she says. “My tummy’s been acting kinda funky.” 

“Are you sick?” She shakes her head no. “Then maybe you’re just hungry. That’s probably it. You need to eat some pizza!” 

“Maybe,” April says weakly, but I can tell something is off. She doesn’t sense me watching her - or if she does, she doesn’t acknowledge it. 

Athena keeps talking as we wait for our pizza to arrive and doesn’t stop once it does. I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard her talk this much in one sitting, but it’s nice to hear the rise and fall of her voice. It’s comfortable conversation that propels itself; she barely needs any involvement from me or April, completely entertained by the flow of her own thoughts. I’m half listening, half wondering what’s going on with April. She told me in vague terms what happened at the meeting earlier, but I’m stuck on the thought that it must have gone differently than planned. That’s the only reason I can think of as to why she’s acting so abnormally. “Hey,” I say, looking at her during a pause in Athena’s monologues. “You alright?” 

“Daddy, she was just hungry,” Athena insists. “Leave her alone. Nobody likes your a thousand questions.” 

I flick my eyes to my daughter, then back to April - hoping they convey the same question but silently. She nods just enough to see, and I sigh and return to my pizza. I don’t believe her, not at all, but I can only assume that what’s on her mind is what’s on mine - our fight. We’ll talk at home. I’ll just have to forget about it for right now. 

April barely touches her food. She eyes it frequently, watching Athena now and again, but most of the time she just stares into space. I can’t stop thinking about what’s going on in her head, and by the time we’re finished eating I’ve convinced myself that she said yes to the record label and is moving next week. My stomach toils with the thought of losing her, though just last night I’d been rallying for her to take the offer. I want her to take it; I hope she did. But even so, the thought of her absence is enough to knock me off-center as I’ll have to prepare for another hole in mine and Athena’s life. 

“Um,” April says, speaking up for the first time in at least twenty minutes. Athena is sitting back against the booth, slouched over as she looks through pictures on April’s phone. She used to do the same with mine, but is no longer allowed for reasons she’s not privy to. My phone is where all the adult photos of myself and April are stored and her eyes never, ever need to come into contact with those. “I have something I wanna say,” she continues, holding onto the straps of her purse as it sits on the table. 

“Alright,” I say warily.

“Are you making an announcement?” Athena asks, eyes still on the screen. She laughs a little then turns it around to showcase a snapshot of Steph with a Snapchat filter. “I like this,” she says. “I wanna do Snapchat. Daddy, can I have a Snapchat?” 

“No,” I say.

“Dad…” she whines. “It’s not even a game. You just take pictures.”

“You’re interrupting,” I say, looking towards April. “April wants to say something.” 

Athena looks back at the phone and April sits up straighter, seemingly bracing herself. “So, there’s something I need to tell you both,” she begins, and I take a deep, cleansing breath and prepare for what I’m about to hear. She has to move. She’s leaving soon and she doesn’t know how long it’ll be until she sees us again. I cringe as she worries the inside of her cheek, wishing she would spit it out and get it over with. “It’s a surprise that I want to tell you about.” 

“Okay...” I say, urging her along with wide eyes. “We’re ready.” 

If I’m not mistaken, her chin trembles as she presses her lips together. She swipes a bit of hair out of her face as her shoulders rise and fall, then lifts something from her purse - but I have no clue what. Then, she opens her mouth, looks up with shimmering eyes and says, “I’m pregnant.” 

My whole body goes cold and I’m sure the blood must drain from my face and turn it pale. My tongue is suddenly four times bigger and much too dry - I can’t form a single thought, let alone a sentence. Pregnant. She’s pregnant. She didn’t accept the record deal; she’s pregnant. 

“What?” Athena says, looking up from the phone with narrowed eyes.

April attempts a smile, but it doesn’t even come close. “I’m pregnant,” she says, voice wavering like it might break at any second. “I’m gonna have a baby.” 

I open and close my mouth like some sort of stupid fish, unable to come up with anything to say. I feel decimated, ambushed, and caught off guard. I have too many questions to know where to begin in asking. One thing I know for sure is that she couldn’t have picked a worse time or a worse place to break the news. She’s given me no time to process this with Athena sitting here, in a public setting, no less. It almost feels like she planned it this way, which makes me seethe. “Y-you’re…” I stammer.

She slides the object in her hand across the table. Now, I see it’s a ClearBlue pregnancy test - one of the more accurate brands. “Pregnant,” she says.

“Wait, no,” Athena says, shoving the phone away while propping herself up to see the test. She picks it up off the table, clearly unaware of what substance has touched the far end, and brings it close to her face. “You’re lying. You don’t have a baby in your tummy, you’re skinny.” She shakes her head, malice in her eyes. “This stupid stick doesn’t say anything. This doesn’t mean you have a baby in you. That would be crazy.” 

“No, Thena,” April says gently. “It does. See the little word ‘pregnant’ right there?” She tries to point, but Athena yanks the test away to look for herself. “That means… well, it means I’m pregnant,” she finishes. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Athena says angrily. “It doesn’t. You’re lying!” 

“Thena, calm down,” I say, trying to add something of worth. I feel the emotion between the three of us begin to rise, and we don’t need that here. I don’t want to make a scene. 

“I can’t calm down!” she says, voice rising. “Because this is not even fair! This is my day, this is my piano recital day. We said it a thousand times. It was all about me, just like my birthday. And now, it’s not. Now it’s about April and you and a dumb, stupid baby that doesn’t exist.” 

“Athena,” I warn, wishing I could come up with a better way to scold her. My mind is blank and numb, though. Absolutely nothing occurs inside it. I don’t know where to go from here, no clue what the next step is. I’m at a loss; a huge one. 

“No!” she shrieks, face turning red. “You lied. You said nothing would change and now everything is. Everything is gonna change and it’s all your fault. You ruined everything. Everything was just starting to be good and now it’s bad. Because of you!” 

She points at April and she visibly recoils, one tear slipping down her cheek. That incites an instinctive response in me, one that makes me stand up and cap a hand over my daughter’s shoulder. “That is enough now,” I growl, taking her hand. “We’re leaving.” 

“Are you this fake baby’s dad?” Athena asks, looking into my eyes with a burning expression. “Is that who its daddy is? You?”

“Yes,” I say.

She rips her arm out of my grip and cradles it close to her chest, glowering while flashing a look that could kill. “I hate it,” she says. “I hate the baby and I hate you. Now, my piano recital doesn’t even matter. You don’t even care or wanna talk about it. You weren’t even listening the entire time. All you care about is the stupid, dumb baby! I’m running away when we get home.” 

“You’re not running away,” I say tiredly, grabbing her hand again. “We’re leaving. Right now.” 

“I’m not going with you,” she says. “Stranger danger! Stranger danger!”

I hear April trying to stifle her tears behind us, apologizing to the waitress while leaving her a tip that’s hopefully huge. “That is enough, Athena,” I say, squatting to her level. She’s crying, her cheeks wet with tears. “We’re getting in the car. Right now.” 

“You didn’t even smile,” she says, teeth gritted. “You didn’t even smile and that means you aren’t happy about the fake baby, either. You didn’t even kiss April or hug her! You don’t want it just like I don’t.” 

“Hey,” I say sternly. “No. We are done talking about this.” 

“I’ll make the baby leave,” she says. “I’m gonna make the baby go away. Then we can be really done talking about it forever.” 

“Athena,” I say. “One more word and I’m taking away your piano for three months. Do you hear me?”

She closes her mouth and doesn’t open it again, crossing her arms while lifting them to rest under her chin. With a hand between her shoulder blades, I guide her to the car and she buckles herself in as I get behind the wheel, April next to me. It’s deadly silent after everyone is inside, which is rare in itself, and it stays that way the whole way home. 

When we get there, Athena bursts inside and stomps up the stairs, slamming her door with more force than I knew she was capable of. The whole house seems to shake from the impact and I close my eyes after, rubbing my temples. I turn around to see April taking off her shoes, still crying, and I walk over to help her. She lets me, which I hadn’t expected, but walks away towards the kitchen after. “Hey,” I call after her. “We should probably talk.” 

“I know,” she sniffles. 

I follow her without much of a choice. I find her leaning over the sink, arms straight, back trembling with sobs. “April,” I say, approaching her. “Take a breath. You’re getting all worked up.” 

“Yeah, I know!” she squeaks, wiping her nose. “You think that’s how I expected that to go?” I sigh, long and drawn-out without giving her an answer. Knowing Athena, I’m not sure how she saw it going any differently. “I turned down the label’s offer,” she says, shoulders deflating. 

I guess my predictions from earlier have been debunked. She won’t be going anywhere, or leaving us for months at a time. In that respect, our life won’t change. “Oh,” I say dumbly. I take a second to think about my response before curtailing it with, “Because of the baby?” She shrugs one shoulder and tips her head to the side, a somewhat-affirmative gesture. “You knew?” I ask, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Not for sure,” she replies. “I had an inkling. A tiny one. I didn’t know for sure. But it’s what I want; I’m happy with the choice I made.” 

“Well, you went in knowing you’d make it,” I say tersely. 

“You can’t be mad at me,” she says. “You already knew what I was gonna tell him.” 

“What  _ did _ you tell him?” I ask. “How could you have possibly made sense of turning down an offer like that?” 

She turns to face me with red-rimmed eyes. “I told him the truth,” she says, spit clinging to her lips. She really can’t pull herself together, but I don’t have the urge to hold her and make everything better. We’re at a point where we need to hash things out, not place a bandage over a problem that’s much too big for a patch. These are adult problems and they need to be handled as such. 

“You told him you’re pregnant?” I ask, filling in the blank that she won’t. She nods and fire boils in my gut. “So, you told some random stranger before you told me?” 

“I just found out, Jackson,” she says. “This morning. You weren’t ready to hear it - you still aren’t. It was the only thing that would get him off my back. He wasn’t gonna listen to anything else and I knew that. What was I supposed to do, tell you before Athena’s recital so she could hate me even more?” 

“She doesn’t hate you,” I grumble.

“I’m sorry for telling him before I told you,” she says. “It just felt necessary. I was stuck. There wasn’t another way out.” 

“I understand,” I say. “I don’t like it, though. I don’t know why you wouldn’t tell me - just me - right away. Did you not think it through, April? Did you not think what a difficult place you put us in by telling me and Athena together? Why would you do that?” 

“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. “I knew you’d be upset about not knowing as soon as I did, so I just wanted to get it off my chest.” 

“But with her there?” I sputter. “It felt like a trap. We should’ve talked about it before telling her.” 

“A trap for what?” she spits. “I’m not trapping you into anything. You’re already here. We both are.” 

“That’s not what I mean,” I say. “You know what I’m trying to say. I couldn’t give you an honest reaction with Athena there.” 

“Yeah, well she gave me all the honesty I needed,” April says, face growing even more blotchy. “She said it herself; I ruined everything.” 

“She’s 8,” I say. “She’s spewing shit. She doesn’t mean it.” 

“I don’t know,” she says, then looks at me with hard eyes. “Are you even happy?” she asks. “Athena said it herself - you aren’t, are you?” 

“I’m…” I say, but I can’t see a clear path to finish the sentence. Of course, I pictured having children with April. Maybe even multiple. But bringing them into the world so soon wasn’t part of the plan. I thought we were going to take things slow; she had insisted as much just days ago. None of this makes any sense and I can’t wrap my head around it. 

“You aren’t,” she says, backing away. “You really aren’t.” 

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” I say.

“You don’t want the baby,” she says. “Just say it.”

“I’m not gonna say that, because it isn’t true,” I say. “God damn it, April, can you just let me think? Everything is happening so fast. It wasn’t supposed to happen this soon. I can’t… I can’t process it this fast. You have to give me time.” 

“You need time,” she says. “Why are you making it sound like it’s all my fault?” 

“I’m not,” I say, rubbing my temples. 

“Well, that’s what it sounds like,” she refutes. “And it’s not just my fault. You kept saying we’d be fine without a condom doing it once or twice. Well, we weren’t.”

“I never said that,” I say.

“Well, I sure didn’t say it!” she argues. 

“There were times where we got caught up and-” 

“You couldn’t wait, so you came inside me and we made a baby,” she says, starting to cry again through her anger. She points to her belly with both pointer fingers. “There’s a baby in here, half you and half me. It’s not just my fault and it’s not just yours. We did this, and there’s nothing we can do to change it. I’m not aborting it. But if you want me to leave-” 

“April, just stop… stop talking,” I say. “I can’t think. No one’s telling you to go anywhere or abort any baby. Please, just give me a goddamn second.” She stands across from me, chest heaving with one hand to her heart, eyes swollen. “It’s just not the right time right now,” I say. “The timing is bad.” 

“Obviously, it’s bad,” she says. “But what were you just saying about timing never being right?”

“That was different,” I say. “That was a life choice. This-” 

“Isn’t a choice,” she says. “We’re having a baby.” 

“Why didn’t you just come to me?” I ask. “You took the test this morning, didn’t you? When you came out of Athena’s bathroom? You didn’t want to use ours because you knew I’d see you. Why were you sneaking around, April?”

“No, no. That’s not it,” she says. “I wasn’t sneaking.” 

“You got up extra early, bought a pregnancy test and took it in the kid’s bathroom,” I say. “That’s not sneaking?” 

“What if it had been negative?” she counters. “Then, I would’ve gotten you all worried for nothing.”

“Well, it wasn’t for nothing,” I say, motioning towards her. “You’re knocked up.” 

“Don’t say it like that,” she says. “I’m pregnant.” 

“You’re the one who said we shouldn’t keep things from each other anymore. You agreed that honesty is the best way to go, and that we should be more open.”

“It’s not like I waited a whole week!” she says. “It was half a day.”

“Then you dropped the bomb on me in front of my daughter,” I say. 

“I didn’t see another way,” she says. “Would you have rather me waited until even later?” 

“Yes!” I say. “I would’ve liked for you to break it to me literally any other way. You put me right on the spot and you did it on purpose.”

“No, I did not,” she says. “You’re making it sound like it was premeditated, like I’m this evil person who’s trying to force you to be with me. That’s not it. You said you wanted babies with me, Jackson, so I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what to say to fix this.” 

“There’s nothing to say,” I mutter defeatedly. “Fixing it isn’t the point.” 

“Then what more do you want?” she asks. “I feel like I can’t do anything right with you lately. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry I told you the way I did; I didn’t think it through. I should’ve done it differently.” 

“Thank you,” I say tightly. 

“But what are we gonna do, bringing a baby into the world when we aren’t even married? When I’m not even moved in yet? When Athena is so unstable and hates even the thought of it?” She shakes her head. “It’s all wrong. I know it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Having a baby is supposed to be happy, and I really don’t feel happy right now.” 

“I don’t, either,” I say. 

She meets my eyes vulnerably. “Do you not want it?” she whimpers.

“I already said-” 

“I know,” she says. “But I’m asking you for real… do you not want this baby?”

I let out a long sigh and feel my lips separate as I look at her face. It’s a big step, arguably the biggest possible, having a child with someone. But as I look at her, bared for everything she is with every insecurity on display, I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else. I just feel so unprepared. I don’t know how to do this with a partner. I don’t know if I’m ready to bring another life into the world and have them be as difficult as Athena was and continues to be. I don’t know if I have it in me to mess up again, a thousand times over. 

“Of course I want the baby,” I say genuinely, then shrug. “I just don’t know if the baby’s gonna want me.” 

“What do you mean by that?” she asks, sniffling. 

“I don’t feel ready,” I say. “No, I know I’m not ready.” 

“Well, I’m not, either,” she says. 

“I’m not a good father,” I say finally. “I won’t be enough for you once you realize that.” 

She squints, looking at me like she doesn’t recognize me. “Why would you say that?” she says.

“Because it’s true,” I say. “Parenting comes so naturally to you, but it just doesn’t for me. I have to think about it, I have to actively think about putting Athena first. For you, you just do it. You’re going to be better at raising our child than I am. I don’t feel ready for a baby because I don’t want you to be disappointed. You’re the only person who sees me the way you do, April, and I’m scared that when you finally see I’m not all you cracked me up to be, you’re gonna hate the life you chose.”

She starts to cry again, this time slower and silently. She walks closer and throws her arms around my waist, burying her head in my chest as her body vibrates. “Don’t say that,” she says. “I don’t want you to talk like that.” 

“I’m not talking like anything,” I say. “I’m not being self-deprecating. It’s the truth. My own daughter didn’t like me until you came along. Why should another child feel any differently?” 

“You’re gonna be a good father,” she says. “You already are. Athena didn’t start loving you when I showed up, she learned how to show it. You’re wrong, everything you’re saying is wrong. You’re raising a beautiful child, and I don’t want to raise mine with anyone else but you. They’re so lucky to have you as their dad.” She holds my face and kisses me softly. “Is that why you were pushing me to go to LA? Do you think you don’t deserve me?” 

“I… I don’t know,” I say as the realization sets in. “Maybe.” 

“I love you,” she says. “And I trust you. I put everything in with you, I’m all in. You’re so much better than you think, Jackson.” 

“I don’t think that’s true,” I say. “I make a lot of mistakes-”

“We all do,” she says. “I made so many today alone. I ruined the announcement. I made you and Athena so upset. I never wanted it to go that way. But… it did anyway.” 

“I love you, too,” I say, framing her face in my hands while stroking her cheekbones. “I just need help.” 

“Everybody needs help sometimes,” she says. “And you don’t have to want for it anymore, okay? I’m right here. And I’ve got you right here. We have each other. We can do this.” 

“I wish I was as sure as you are,” I admit.  

“Well, I’m not really that sure,” she says quietly. 

“You’re good at faking it, then,” I say, touching her hair. “Listen. Baby… I’m sorry for getting so upset with you these last couple days.” 

“Thanks,” she whispers. 

“I’m glad you’re staying here with us,” I say. “I don’t want you to leave, but I just want you to be sure about it. Because if you did wanna go, I’d be totally behind your decision.” 

“I don’t,” she says. “I want to stay. I want this baby… no matter how not-ready I feel. I do want this baby. Do you?” she asks and I nod. She looks down, laughing at herself. “I know it’s stupid,” she says. “But can you say it out loud?” 

“I’m excited for the baby,” I say, caressing the side of her face. “I am. And I love you so much."

“I love you,” she says softly. “We can do this.” 

“With you, I feel like I have a shot,” I say. “It’s a nice feeling.” 

She snuggles against my chest, pressing her cheek against my heart. “I like giving you nice feelings,” she says. “I don’t like fighting.” 

“No, I don’t either.” Just as she’s about to open her mouth and say something else, she bolts away and heads towards the bathroom. Before I can register what’s going on, I hear retching sounds and instantly know what’s happening. “You okay?” I call, hurrying towards the source of the sound. 

When I show up in the bathroom door, April is on the floor with her arms wrapped around the toilet bowl, tears streaming down her face again. “It’s happened a few times now,” she sniffles, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “Always makes me cry for some reason.” 

I sit on the floor with her and spool her hair into my hands, letting it come to rest behind her shoulders as she leans to throws up again. It isn’t much, mostly bile, but it makes her whole body heave and contract. It’s an odd sight; I forgot how violent morning sickness is. It didn’t affect Myla until the second trimester, though, which struck her as odd back then. With April, though - this baby doesn’t seem to want to wait. 

“Are we okay?” she asks me, one cheek resting against the bowl. Her eyes are duller, more tired now. I can hear the gurgling of her stomach from where I sit with my hand on her back. “Me and you, I mean.” 

“Yeah,” I say. “As far as I’m concerned, we are. Are we okay by you?” 

She nods and closes her eyes, then reaches for my hand. “We’re having a baby, Jackson,” she whispers. 

“That we are,” I solidify, tracing her dainty knuckles with my thumb. 

We sit in comfortable silence in the bathroom because April is too nervous to get up - her stomach keeps churning like another bout is on the way. So, we stay. We stay until we hear soft footsteps on the stairs, and then Athena appears in the doorway holding her stuffed bunny and wearing pink pajamas.

“Hey there,” I say gently, trying to gauge the look on her face. Judging by the bloodshot quality of her eyes, she’s been crying, too. Her cheeks are a little swollen and her nose has a bit of crust on it, but she looks to be in a more stable place. “Hey, little one.” 

She doesn’t look at me, though. Instead, she keeps her eyes on April and extends the hand that’s holding the bunny. “George’s eye,” she says, opening the opposite palm that holds a small marble. “It fell out.” 

“Oh, no,” April says, looking between the two items. “I can fix it, don’t worry. I’ll sew him up tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she says. Athena stays standing there, fingers closed around the marble now. She shifts her weight from foot to foot and doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. Her eyes rove everywhere, unable to land as nearly-visible thoughts whir behind them. “Are you sick?” she asks. “I heard you puking.” 

“I am, just a little,” April says.

“You can hold George,” Athena says, holding out the stuffed animal again. “He says he’ll make you better.”

“Oh, thank you,” April says, and clutches the bunny close to her chest. Athena stays where she is as if she’s waiting for something to happen, and April watches her with receptive eyes. “Do you want to come sit with me, too?” she asks. 

I don’t know how her heart got to be so big. Athena said some truly horrible things earlier, and even though she’s only 8, April still has the right to be hurt. But here she is, welcoming my daughter onto her lap with open arms. With her, the amount of second chances never runs out. I hope Athena someday realizes how rare and special that is.

April sits against the wall with her knees bent, and Athena finds her place between them, resting against April’s chest. She holds the bunny after April gives it back to her, and she plays with his ears while she speaks, unable to look up. “Did I make you cry?” she asks, her voice so, so small. 

April, with the biggest heart I’ve ever known, says, “No, no.”

“Did the baby?”

She inhales deeply, contemplating an answer. “A little,” she says. 

“Did the baby make you sick, too?”

“Yeah, they did,” April says. 

“They?” Athena says. “Two?” 

“Oh, no,” April says. “‘They’ is just a gender-neutral term. We don’t know if the baby is a boy or a girl, so I use the word ‘they.’ It’s better than ‘it.’”

“They,” Athena says, testing it out for herself. “Or them.” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

I’m still in the bathroom too, but the moment is shared only between the two of them. It’s like I’m not present at all, but not in a negative way. 

“They’ll have the same daddy as me,” Athena continues after a beat or two. 

“You’re right,” April says. 

“But not the same mommy.” 

“No.” 

Athena bites the inside of her cheek and covers the bunny’s face with his ears, then brings the toy up to her face. She covers her features with its soft fur, hiding as she speaks next. “You’re gonna like them better than me,” she murmurs. 

“What?” April asks, eyebrows coming together. 

“You’re gonna like the baby better than you like me,” Athena states again. “Remember what you said? This baby is gonna be the only one who knows what your heart sounds like from the inside. I don’t even know that, ‘cause I was never in your belly. So, you’re gonna like them better than me.”

“Oh, Thena,” April says, wrapping her arms around Athena’s chest to pull her in tight. “That’s just not true.” 

“It might be true.” 

“It’s not,” April says solidly. “I promise. And you know why?” Athena shakes her head. “Because this baby chose me. I didn’t get a say in what kind of person they are. They could be anything. Good, bad, silly, naughty, anything. No matter what, they chose me. But with you and me, it’s different,” she says, and Athena turns to look at her. With their eyes locked, April touches her cheek and says, “This baby, they chose me. But Athena Violet, I chose you.” 


	17. Chapter 17

**APRIL**

Everything in the house is pink. Pink streamers, pink balloons, pink cake, even pink ice cream. Athena insisted that the house should blow up with femininity for the baby shower since I am, after all, having a girl.

It took her a while to warm up to the fact that she’s getting a little sister. It didn’t happen overnight, that evening on the bathroom floor. It’s taken months to get her used to the idea of sharing both myself and Jackson with another child. Some days are harder than others - one minute she’s excited, the next she wants nothing to do with the baby. I have to keep in mind that she’s only 8 years old and can’t be expected to deal with this big of a surprise in an adult manner. She’s a kid and she’s allowed to react like one.

“You get to open presents right here on this big chair,” Athena says, arranging the balloons just the way she likes them. “How many presents are you gonna get?” 

“I have no idea,” I say, one hand on my protruding belly while resting the other on the back of an armchair. I’m 8 months along - we’re having the baby shower pretty late - and every breath is a struggle. This little girl loves pressing against my lungs. 

“Probably tons,” Jackson says, coming downstairs as he finishes up the buttons on his shirt. “Knowing how many people will be here.” 

“How many?” Athena asks eagerly, coming out from behind the chair. “Is the whole house gonna be filled up?” 

“Pretty much,” he says, then takes a look in the hall mirror before turning to meet my eyes. “Look okay?” he asks. 

“You look great,” I say, giving him a tired smile. “It’s a good thing, too, because one of us should.” 

“And that would be you,” he says, taking my hands to lace our fingers together. “You look stunning.” 

“I do not,” I pout, glancing down at my round belly. If I could see them, I’d notice my swollen ankles, pudgy legs and widened feet. Nothing of mine feels like it belongs to me anymore. “I look like a whale.” 

He makes a low sound in his throat that eventually reaches a high note. “I speak your language, at least,” he says. I sock him hard in the shoulder with a closed fist. “Hey!” he says, rubbing the spot. “That hurt.” 

“Good,” I say. “‘Cause you’re not supposed to say you speak whale. You’re supposed to say I’m tiny and dainty and not whale-like at all.” 

“Baby,” he says, widening his fingers over my belly. “You know how amazing I think you look. I tell you every night. I get this whole kinda… alpha-male thing going because you’re carrying my baby.” He lowers his voice and draws his face nearer to mine. “It’s fuckin’ sexy.  _ You’re _ sexy.” 

I sigh. “You could say that a thousand times, but I still won’t believe it.” 

“So, I’m in trouble if I say you’re not sexy, but also in trouble if I say you are?” he says, eyebrows raised. “I can’t win.” 

“No, you can’t,” I laugh, then jump a little and press a hand to my belly. “Oh!” I exclaim. “She’s kicking. Feel, Daddy.” 

I take his wrist and place his hand where flutters can be felt through my skin. She’s gotten so strong over these past couple months. “Hey, baby girl,” he says. “Hi, Selah.”

I smile at Jackson as he’s dropped to his knees to talk to my belly, to talk to our daughter. He does it all the time, but it doesn’t get old. I skim a hand over his head, scratching my nails along his scalp, and he kisses the swell of my stomach. “She hears you,” I mutter. 

“She always does,” he responds, dropping another kiss. “Sweet little Selah bird.” 

We picked the name Selah together because it’s unique and it flows along with Athena. Her middle name is Joy, because it was my mom’s middle name. Selah Joy - the name rolls off my tongue and I don’t get tired of saying it. Athena doesn’t either, when she’s excited. She’s even written her sister a few songs as she’s gotten better at reading music. 

“One month ‘til Sissy comes, one month ‘til Sissy comes!” Athena sings, skipping into the hall where Jackson and I stand. Though she’s a wonder with the piano, she can’t hold a tune worth her life. I think it’s hilarious, but I would never, ever tell her as much. 

“One month and a couple days,” I say, framing her face as she takes Jackson’s spot and wraps her arms around my belly. 

“You’re soft,” she tells me, resting a cheek over the bump. “I like it.” 

I laugh a little. “Well, I’m glad,” I say.

“I like it, too,” Jackson says over her head. 

“Is Auntie Maggie and everyone gonna be here?” Athena asks, peering upwards while still trapping me in a hug.

“I think so,” I say, then look to Jackson for confirmation. “Right?” 

“As far as I know,” he says. 

“And Grandma and Grandpa?”

“Yep.” 

“Who else?” she asks. 

“Well…” I say, twining one of her curls around my pointer finger. “My friend Steph and her girlfriend are coming for sure. My other friend Izzie and her boyfriend. My dad is driving in, my friend Owen, some people from Daddy’s work… we’ll just see who shows up, alright?”

“Alright.” 

“Are you excited?” I ask. 

“No one’s gonna touch my piano, right?” Athena asks.

“You can share,” Jackson warns. 

“Not with my cousins,” she says. “They’ll get the keys all sticky and I want it to stay clean and shiny like I always keep it. So, only adults can touch it. But only if they can play. No just pressing keys. The piano doesn’t like that.” 

“Alright,” I say, smiling. 

“I wish I could put the piano up in my room,” she says. “Then, I could keep it safe.” She pokes my belly softly. “You have my baby sister safe in here.” 

“I sure do,” I say. “All safe and warm.” 

“How does she breathe?” Athena asks, eyebrows furrowed. “And how did she even get in there?” She looks back to Jackson. “How did Selah get inside April’s tummy, Dad?” She blinks hard, going deeper in thought. “How are babies even made?” 

Jackson inhales loudly and widens his eyes before looking at the clock. “That’s a conversation for later, I think,” he says. “Seeing as the guests are about to arrive.” 

“But I wanna know!” Athena says, following him as she lets go of my waist. 

“We’ll sit down and have a talk soon, all three of us. Just hold onto it, alright?” 

“I guess. Is it gross? The answer. Is it gross?” 

He groans lightly and says, “Um… a little.” 

“Then I definitely wanna know.” Jackson catches my eye over the top of Athena’s head and if I’m not mistaken, I see his skin go pale. I stifle a giggle and cover my mouth with one hand, shaking my head with amusement. She looks back at me with curiosity, hair flying as it’s down and natural. “Why are you laughing?” she asks. 

I try and compose myself. “Just thought of a joke from the other day,” I say.

“You’re weird,” she says, giving me a look. 

“A good weird, I hope,” I say. 

“Yeah,” she says. “But still weird.”

A few minutes later, just after the food has been put out, there’s a knock at the door. I’m upstairs changing for the third time, unhappy with every article of clothing I put on my body. Nothing looks right, not even my maternity wear. “Athena,” I hear Jackson say. “Can you get the door?” 

“No!” she says. “Daddy, you do it.” 

“I’m a little preoccupied at the moment,” he says. When I’d gone upstairs he was standing on a chair fixing the streamers. “Just go open it, honey.” 

“I don’t want to,” she says. “I don’t know who’s there.” 

“Thena,” he says. “Help me out.” 

“I can’t,” she says, then shouts up the stairs. “April? Somebody’s here!” 

“Go ahead and get the door, babe,” I say, pulling a different dress on over my head. 

“I can’t. I don’t know these people.” 

“They’re nice,” I call down. “I promise, they’ll be happy to see you.” I tear off the dress. It makes me look like a blimp. And instead of a verbal response, I hear Athena’s footsteps hurrying up the stairs, pounding the floor until she appears in the doorway of the master bedroom. “You didn’t get the door,” I say. 

As she replies, I hear Jackson greeting whoever has arrived. Athena looks towards the voices, too, then back to me. “You’re not dressed,” she says, looking at my state. I’m only in a bra and underwear as I’d just discarded another option. “Your belly’s out. Is that how you’re gonna go to the party?”

I chuckle and say, “No.” 

She throws her arms around me and presses her ear against my belly. She likes to listen to Selah, claiming that she can hear her. Now isn’t the best time, but I still let her do it. “Do I have to talk to a lot of people today?” she asks. 

I pet her hair as I feel her jaw move against my skin. “Are you feeling shy?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I just don’t wanna talk to people that I don’t know.” 

“You can do whatever you want, as long as you’re kind about it,” I tell her. “It’s okay to feel shy around people. We spend a lot of time just the three of us - me, you, and Daddy. So having a lot of people around is kinda weird for me, too.” 

“Four of us,” she says, then looks up to meet my eyes while pressing a fingertip to my belly. 

“Right,” I say with a smile. 

“I just wanna stay by you,” she says, squeezing me a little tighter. 

“Alright,” I say. “But you have to let me get dressed. Wanna help me pick something?” 

I end up in a dress that I don’t hate. It’s blush pink with seams under the bust that dart over my belly to give me some sort of a shape other than round, with three-quarter length sleeves. After fixing my hair and makeup, I take Athena’s hand and walk downstairs to the main area that’s filling with people. “There she is!” Jackson says brightly. He’s in the kitchen, handing beers to whoever wants them. In baby shower style, though, they have pink ribbons wrapped around the neck. I recognize a few of his coworkers and their spouses, and when he comes to get me, his smile is big and proud. “Here she is,” he says, then kisses my cheek. “Mama-to-be.” 

“Hi,” I say, grinning as I shake their hands. “I’m April.” 

He introduces me to a few people and they all tell me how beautiful my bump is, how I’m glowing, and I take their compliments in stride. There’s only so much I can handle, though, so I’m thankful when familiar faces arrive. “Where’s my baby mama?” I hear, then flip around to see Steph coming in the door with a giant, pink box in her arms. 

“Stephy!” I cheer, then make my way over. “You made it!”

“Of course I did,” she says. “When it comes to my little niece, I’ll do anything. Jade’s here, too, she’s just locking up the car.” 

Jade is Steph’s girlfriend of about six months. I’ve met her a few times and we really hit it off - the two of them are great together. And ever since they met, whatever confusing feelings Steph had for me have fallen away. Now that we’re not living together, everything has gone back to the way it was before, the way we both liked it. Our friendship is stronger than ever. “Hey, Jade!” I say, watching as she comes up the front path. “You did not have to bring me something. One gift was enough!” 

She appears in the doorway, out of breath. “I can’t resist a good baby gift,” she says, setting the box amongst the others. “Hey, April. You look fantastic.” 

She gives me a big hug and I close my eyes as I wrap my arms around her. “Thanks,” I say. “But I feel like a giant toad.” Suddenly, I feel a tug on my sleeve and look down to see that Athena has reclaimed her spot glued to my side. “Oh, guys, this is Athena. You’ve met before, Steph, but Athena, this is Jade. Steph’s girlfriend.” I smile. “This is Selah Joy’s big sister.” 

“Oh, wow,” Jade says. “That’s an important job, for sure. I’m a big sister, too.” Athena leans her head against my side, shy as ever. I’ve noticed she gets this way in big crowds, retreating to what’s familiar. “The first couple years were hard. One time, I coated Anaya - that’s my sister - in ketchup and told my mom she did it on her own. She was only 8 months old.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Hopefully, you don’t get into the stuff I did when I was a kid.” 

“I don’t,” Athena says quietly. “I won’t do that with the ketchup.” 

I rub her shoulder and smile at her, then towards both my friends. “There’s plenty of food inside,” I say. “We’ll do games later.” 

Athena sticks to my side as I linger by the door, and I open it as Izzie gets out of her car. “I know Izzie,” she says. 

“Told you she’d be here” I say. “You wanna go help her?” She looks at me with wide, unsure eyes and I nod her along. “You can,” I say. “Go ahead. She’d really appreciate it.” 

Hesitantly, Athena steps out in her shiny black shoes and approaches Izzie’s car. I can’t hear what’s being said, but Izzie flashes her a huge smile, gives her a hug, then hands her a present to carry inside. When Athena turns around to walk back to me, she’s beaming. “This is for Selah,” she says proudly, showcasing the bag overflowing with tissue paper. “They have way more in the car, though.” 

As Athena goes to set the present down, Izzie and her boyfriend, Lux, carry the rest to the door. “There you are!” she says, peering around the boxes in her arms. 

“Did you go out and buy the whole damn store?” I say. “Jesus, you did not need to do this.” 

“She did,” Lux says with a grin. “She really did.” 

“I really did!” Izzie says, putting them down as carefully as she can. She stands up to her full height, exhales loudly, then widens her arms. “Oh, my god. Look at you. Just look at you! Lux, look at this cute little mama.” I give her a big hug and she rubs my back, squeezing extra tight. “So happy for you,” she says. “Pregnancy really suits you.” 

“Thanks, Iz,” I say, pulling back. 

“Where’s your baby daddy?” she asks. “I wanna go give him a hug.” 

She and Lux leave to find Jackson, and I’m just about to start a conversation with Athena when my dad walks through the door like he owns the place. “Sugar!” he sings, then looks to Athena with an excited expression. “Little sugar!” 

“Joe-Joe!” Athena says, then runs to him. The two of them hit it off during their first meeting, and their relationship has only strengthened since. She’s comfortable around my dad and he really knows how to make her laugh. Athena doesn’t approve of many people, but he’s high on her list of favorites. “You came!” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says. “My baby and her babies. Grandpa couldn’t be happier.” 

“Joe-Joe,” Athena says. “I learned a new song and I really wanna play it for you. I learned it from reading the notes! Can I show you?”

“Do you mind?” my dad asks me, dropping a kiss on my cheek. “Or is the piano off-limits today?” 

“No, she can play for you,” I say. 

“Yay!” Athena says, then takes his hand to lead him away. “Come on!” 

I take a breath and lean against the staircase, feeling my face flush as I rest my tired back. I don’t blush for any particular reason - hot flashes have been common throughout my pregnancy. I fan my face and keep one hand on my belly as I watch my friends and family mingle, feeling a small pang in my heart as I notice who’s missing. “Hey, mama,” Izzie says, coming up with a glass of sparkling wine in hand. “You okay?” 

I flash her a small smile. “Yeah,” I say. “It’s a great turnout. I like seeing Jackson’s family and my dad and all you guys here together.” 

She turns to look, too, then back to me. “Yeah, it’s nice,” she says, squeezing my hand. “You missing her?”

My shoulders deflate as I meet her eyes. “How’d you know?” I ask. 

She taps her head with one finger. “There are some things I just know,” she says. “I’ve been around you too many years to not know what you’re thinking. Of course, you miss her.” 

“She would just love this,” I say, watching the party. Then, I run one hand over the swell of my stomach. “And this.” 

“She definitely would,” Izzie says, nodding. 

I spend a moment in silence, knowing not much more needs to be said. Selah kicks and presses against my hands and I push gently back on her, which makes me smile. “I still get sad,” I say. “Obviously. That’s not ever gonna go away. Especially when big things happen, or when we talk about the wedding. Times like those.” Izzie nods. “But I’ve been talking to her a lot.” 

“That’s good,” she says. 

“Yeah,” I say. “And her middle name was Joy, you know. Karen Joy. And Selah’s middle name is Joy, too. We did that for her.” 

“I love that,” Izzie says. “That was a great idea.” 

“It was Jackson’s, actually,” I say, remembering the night he brought it up. He broached the question like he thought I was going to get upset, or at the very least say no. But I loved it right off the bat. 

“He’s so good to you,” she says, eyes twinkling. “You deserve that.” 

“Thanks,” I breathe, eyes burning like I’m on the brink of tears. I blink hard and look towards the ceiling to ward them away, but a few fall anyway. I look to him as he stands by Steph and they clink their beer bottles together, laughing afterwards. “I love him a lot,” I say.

He must feel my eyes, because he looks over and flashes me a grin and a small wave. I give him one back then look to Izzie, who’s serene and calmly happy. “He loves you like crazy,” she says, then smiles wider. “As he should.” 

…

The afternoon is filled with food, games, and a ton of presents. By the time everyone leaves, Athena is asleep on the couch and I’m working on folding tissue paper to save. “Good day,” Jackson says, coming up behind me to drop a kiss to my head. “Dishes are done.” 

“Thanks, baby,” I say, slipping a folded piece into a nearly-full gift bag. 

“I’m gonna take the little one upstairs,” he says. “Get her to bed. You wanna come up after you’re done?” 

“Sure,” I say.

He swipes a hand over my shoulders and gives me a suggestive look. “I’ll put you to bed, too, if you want.” 

“Alright,” I say, smirking. 

“You’re not too tired?” he asks. 

“Not for that, no,” I say. 

“God, I love your pregnancy hormones,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “I’ll be up in a second,” I say. “I’m just gonna finish this up.”

He nods and picks up Athena, then pauses at the foot of the stairs. “Oh,” he says. “Now, we have the sex talk to look forward to.” 

I sigh loudly. “Don’t remind me,” I say. “I was afraid we were gonna have to do it tonight.”

He looks at Athena’s face, head lolled over his arm. He smiles, chuckles, and says, “Nope. Out like a light. We can corrupt her another day.” He leaves and I finish cleaning up and then head upstairs, stretching as I go. I see the door to Athena’s room shut mostly all the way, nightlight on, and hear Jackson puttering around in our room. “Come in here, beautiful,” he says. “Your feet must be tired.”

I smile and pad into the bedroom, finding him sitting on the bed with lotion beside him. “Let me get changed,” I say. “I’ll be right back.” 

I get out of the dress and into sleep shorts and a camisole, one that stretches tight over my bump. I walk back into the bedroom from the bathroom and one corner of his lips pulls up as he takes in the sight. “Christ, you’re gorgeous,” he says. “Come here.” 

He holds my waist as I stand between his knees, hands moving lower to cup my ass. He tips his head up for a kiss and I give in, pressing my lips to his while closing my eyes. His fingers dig in sharply, making me jolt against him, then I push away with two hands on his chest. “You’re supposed to be massaging my feet,” I say. 

“Lay down then,” he says lightly, a smile still in his eyes. “Get comfortable.”

I do as he says and lie on my back, belly nearly impeding my view of him. It’s good to rest, though. My back and feet have been killing me for the past few hours. He puts lotion on his hands and rubs my feet slowly and deeply, making me melt as I let out a long, relieved sigh. “Thank god for you,” I say. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it,” he says, continuing the movement. His thumbs dig into my arches and make my core buzz - he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“So good,” I say. “I bet my ankles are so swollen.” 

“Not too bad,” he says, moving to massage them. “You were on your feet most of the day. Can’t blame ‘em.”

I sigh again, closing my eyes. “I loved being pregnant for a while,” I say. “But I’m ready to be done now.”

“Mm, not me,” he says, turning my feet out so he can kiss the insides of my calves. “I love seeing you this way.” 

“Seeing me this way and actually being this way are much different things,” I say, touching the top of his head as he kisses the creases of my knees. “You don’t have to get up forty times a night to pee.”

“I wake up, though,” he says. “When you do.” 

“Still not the same,” I say, chuckling. 

“I just love seeing this on you,” he says, pushing my shirt up as he situates himself between my legs. He widens his fingers over the bump and rubs it slowly, keeping his eyes there as he does. “It’s so beautiful.” 

“That’s your baby in there,” I say, stroking his hair as he leans in to kiss my taut skin.

“I know,” he says. “My baby’s carrying my baby. There’s no feeling like it.” 

“You are such a man,” I say. 

“You’d think the same if I was capable of carrying a baby,” he says. 

“Yeah, but you’re not,” I point out with a giggle. “Which is why my body will always be superior.” 

“Not gonna argue with that,” he says, pulling my shirt over my head to leave my top half naked. “God, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful.” 

“You already said that,” I say as he hovers over my body and kisses my breasts. My nerves go electric as he sucks on my nipples, being that they’re extra-sensitive and he knows it. 

“And I’m gonna keep saying it,” he says, lips moving against me. “‘Cause it’s true.” 

I smile softly while I hold his head, feeling his tongue swirl in circles around the hardened bud. “Do you miss my little boobs?” I ask. 

“Mmm, no,” he says, popping away from the left one. “I mean, I love your little boobs. Don’t get me wrong. But now that they’re big…” He looks at them and I swear, his pupils dilate. “So sexy.” 

“They’ll shrink, you know,” I say as he returns to my chest.

“And then I’ll love your little boobs again,” he says. “But I’m just saying, I happen to enjoy them very much when they’re this big.”

With his mouth working magic on my nipples, one hand slips below my belly to stroke me slow and deep. I widen my thighs so he has plenty of room and lift my hips to meet his working fingers, allowing broken sighs to pass my lips. “Oh, that feels good,” I moan, feeling his teeth graze my skin.

“I’m just warming you up, Kiwi,” he says, licking his lips as he straightens up. 

“What are you gonna do to me?” I ask slyly. 

“Come to the edge of the bed and find out,” he says, standing up to strip off his shirt and pants. I can see he already has a persistent erection that’s made a tent of his boxers. I smile to myself and scoot over so my ass is right on the edge, and he holds onto my hips after pulling off my shorts. Both this and doggy style are the only ways we’ve been able to be intimate lately, and I’m glad this is the path we’re choosing tonight. My back still hurts, and I don’t think I could take any impact from behind. He spreads my thighs and keeps them separate with a hand on the inside of each, staring at me with lust in his eyes. Then, he lowers to his knees and licks me, making me tremble under his hands. “You’re wet as hell,” he says, dragging two fingers across my lips. 

“You know I’m horny like, all the time now,” I breathe, stretching my arms above my head.

“Because I’m so sexy and you can’t resist me,” he says.

“Suddenly, I’ve never been more turned off,” I say, then burst out laughing. I squirm a bit and widen my thighs further, pulling him closer with my feet. “Can you get to it?” I ask, a little pushy. 

“Where’s the fire?” he asks playfully, dragging his fingernails down my thighs until he reaches the round of my ass. He smacks the side and grins at me, something devilish in his eyes, then takes his boxers off. I can’t see much past my belly, but I definitely feel it as he sinks inside of me and holds for a long moment. “Oh, Christ,” he moans, hitching my legs higher around his midsection.

I grip the comforter above my head and arch my back as best I can, opening myself for him. He always hits it so deep right away, and my mouth falls open from how good it feels. I let my eyes roll back and dig my heels into his back, causing a hiccup in the rhythm he’d found. As he pounds into me, I try and ignore the muscle spasms in my back and just get lost in the moment like I usually do, breathing deeply to try and center myself. If I let my mind wander, there’s no way I’ll be able to orgasm - and that’s what I really, really need. 

He doesn’t go easy, but he doesn’t go as hard as he did before I got pregnant. As his hips rock against mine, he keeps steady eye contact and holds my legs up, gritting his teeth as he gets closer to what he wants. But he won’t get there first tonight; I’m already just one step away from coming undone because of the attention he gave my nipples earlier. I squeeze his torso with my knees and let my jaw go slack, writhing as the shockwaves ripple through me and the movement of his body doesn’t stop. My hips jerk and twitch, core pulsating as I come back to myself, but I feel a surprising wetness between my legs. “Fuck,” I murmur, eyebrows furrowed. I meet his eyes with confusion and say, “Did you come too, baby?” 

“Not yet,” he says, hands on my knees as he’s still trying to get there.

“I think I peed then,” I say confusedly. I would be more urgent if my brain weren’t as cloudy as it is. 

“Shit,” he breathes, and his facial features clench as his orgasm ripples through his body. Apparently, he doesn’t care that there’s probably urine all over him. “Fuck. Fuck… wait, what?”

“Maybe,” I say, chest still heaving. My back spasms again and I cringe because of it, but try and ignore the feeling. “I’m all wet down there.”

He pulls out and lets his shoulders cave in for a moment as he catches his breath. “Maybe I made you squirt,” he says suggestively. 

“My orgasm wasn’t that good,” I say. “It was good, but no… not that good.” 

He looks a little disappointed, then turns on the bedside lamp. “Well… the floor’s all wet,” he says. “And the blankets. But this isn’t pee.” 

I sit up a little, propped by my elbows. “I didn’t squirt,” I say. “I would know if I did. You’ve made me-” 

“Yeah, I remember,” he says. “But no, it’s not that. Baby, I think your water just broke.” 

“What?” I snap, voice rising in pitch. “No, that can’t be. It’s not time yet. My water can’t break right now.”

“Well…” he says. “I think it did.”

I feel between my legs with one hand and it comes back wet and a bit sticky. “Fuck,” I say, heart pounding. “Jackson. Jackson!” 

“I know,” he says. “Just take a deep breath. Go get cleaned up and put some clothes on, and I’ll call my sister.” 

“Why are you calling your sister at a time like this?” I shriek. 

“April,” he says, extending one palm out flat. “Someone needs to watch Athena. Please, baby, you gotta breathe. It’s gonna be okay. Just because-” 

Another muscle spasm in my back. “I am in active labor,” I say. “It’s not okay! I’m having an emergency, and you’re telling me to breathe.” 

“You’re not having contractions yet,” he says. “We have plenty of time.” 

I grit my teeth through the pain in my back and it dawns on me - I don’t know how it didn’t earlier. I’ve read a few pregnancy books, all of which shed light on back labor. “I am having them,” I say, one hand on my belly. “I think I might’ve been having them for a few hours.” 

“April!” he exclaims. “Why didn’t you didn’t tell me?” 

“I didn’t realize!” I say, blinking rapidly. “My back… I thought it was a backache. I think I’m in back labor, Jackson, and I don’t wanna be in back labor. That’s not good. That means she’s sunny-side up, probably.” I cover my face with my hands and shake my head. “I can’t do this. I’m freaking out, I can’t do this.” 

“You can,” he says, one hand on my shoulder. “We’re gonna figure it out. I’m gonna call Maggie and we’re gonna go to the hospital. Everything is okay, baby. I promise.”

I look at him, expecting to be comforted, but find that his eyes hold the same fear that’s roiling in my chest. “You promise?” I ask, reaching to hold his hand. 

“Yes,” he says. “You just gotta stay here with me. Don’t get in your head, okay? We’re gonna meet the baby soon.” 

“She’s not ready yet, though,” I say weakly, eyes pleading. 

“I don’t think we have another choice,” he says. “I’m gonna get Maggie on the phone. Put some clothes on, baby, okay?” 

“Okay,” I say, standing up to waddle to the bathroom. I wipe my legs with a wet washcloth and put on sweatpants and a hoodie, tying my hair up as I look in the mirror. I’m terrified beyond all means, fear taking over any space that excitement might hold. Her due date isn’t for another four weeks, just a little over four actually. I’m not ready for her and she’s not ready for us. She needs to stay in there longer; she’s not done cooking.

But the contractions in my back tell me differently and make a whole new wave of fright wash through me. In the books, they said that if a woman experiences labor in her back, it probably means that the baby’s head is by the cervix, but they’re facing the stomach instead of the back. Because of this, the hardest part of their body - the back of their head - is pressing on the nerves in my spine and tailbone. I read that it would hurt, and when the next contraction ripples through me, it doesn’t ease up like the others did. The pain just continues, long, hard and pulsing, so much so that I have to ease onto the floor with my mouth open in a silent scream. I don’t know how long I’m there before Jackson comes in and sees me. 

“Baby,” he says, sounding harried. “What are you doing?” 

“I can’t breathe,” I say. 

“Why? What’s going on?” he says. 

“I’m in so much fucking pain!” I shriek, and somehow the muscles tighten even more. 

“Alright, okay,” he says. “We’re gonna get you up and then we’re gonna go. Okay?”

“I can’t move,” I sob, electric darts of pain ribboning through my spine and lower back. 

“Okay,” he says. “I’m sorry, but you have to. We gotta get up. We’re gonna go to the hospital and get you some help with this pain.” 

“I didn’t want the drugs,” I say, reaching for his hands and squeezing them tight as he lifts me to my feet. “In the birth plan, I didn’t want them.” 

“I know,” he says, supporting most of my weight as we descend the stairs. “But I don’t think that’s an option anymore.”

“I’m aware,” I snap, moving gingerly. 

Only a few minutes later, the front door comes open and Maggie bursts inside. “I’m here,” she says. “I sped like hell. How are things going?” 

“Horrible!” I cry, leaning over as I sit on the bench in the entryway. 

“She’s in back labor,” Jackson says. 

“Damn,” Maggie says. “But it’s okay. Everything is gonna be fine. I’m here now, I’ve got Thena. You go have this baby, okay? Call me as soon as you know anything.”

“We will,” Jackson says. “Thanks, Mags. We love you.” 

“I got you,” she says, then touches my hair. “April, honey, you’ve got this under control. We’re women. We’re built for this. You’re about to do something that no man could ever dream of doing. Remember that, okay?” 

“Okay,” I say tearily, gazing up at her. She holds my chin in both hands and gives me a reassuring look, then Jackson helps me to my feet. 

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

Once we’re at the hospital, they set us up in a labor room right away, but I don’t feel any less scared. They tried an epidural, but it didn’t take - that’s common during back labor. “I don’t want them shooting anything else into my spine,” I tell Jackson, tears streaming down my face after listening to the doctor talk about spinal blocks and sterile water injections. “I’m scared. What if something happened?” 

“I know,” he says, stroking my arm. “I-I know. I don’t want it, either.” 

I let out a shaky breath, clutching his hand. “Are you scared?” I ask. 

He shakes his head but looks away quickly towards the labor pool on the far side of the room. “How about I fill that up?” he asks. “Warm water might help your muscles relax.” 

“Yeah, okay,” I say. “That sounds nice.”

Once the pool is filled and I’m given the okay by the doctors and midwife, I strip down and climb inside as he holds my hand to help me. “There,” he says, leaning against the side. “Better?” 

“Yeah,” I say. “A little.”

The doctor comes back a bit later and to tell me that I am, in fact, in active labor. I’m 7 centimeters dilated and should start pushing once it reaches 10. I’m 36 weeks, and because of this the baby will be about 4 weeks premature. She tells me that I shouldn’t worry, that Selah is at a healthy weight - they’ll just need to do a few assessments once she’s out to make sure everything is working properly. She might have to stay in the NICU, but I’m fine with that as long as she’s okay. I’m fine with anything as long as she’s okay. 

“You should start making calls now,” the doctor says gently, kneeling next to the pool. “Your baby will be here soon.”

“Okay,” I say, voice trembling. “I have a question. Would it be feasible if I stayed in here?” I look to Jackson and his face is open. “I’m comfortable in here and in a lot less pain. I think… I mean, we never talked about a water birth, but I just want to know what you think.” 

“Water births are very common,” the doctor says. “You’re a good candidate. If there are any complications, of course we’ll need to get you out. But for where you’re at right now, it should work.” 

“Even though she’s sunny-side up?” I ask. 

“Even so,” the doctor says. “She should come out fine. If not, we know what to do.” 

She leaves with plans to come back soon and I rest my chin down on my folded hands. “Are you okay with that?” I ask Jackson. 

“Whatever makes you feel comfortable, that’s what I wanna do,” he says. 

“Okay,” I whisper. “Um… would you come in with me, when it’s time? Sit behind me?” 

“Of course I will,” he says. “I would love to.” 

“I would really like it, too,” I say. “It would make me feel safer, I think.” 

“Then I will,” he says.

I smile tiredly, blinking slowly as I say, “We should call Maggie and Athena.” 

With an elbow resting on the lip of the tub, the phone rings in my ear as Jackson warms up the old water with new. “Hello?” Maggie answers. 

“Hey, it’s me,” I say. “I’m having the baby tonight, in a few hours.”

“Oh, my god,” she says. “Is everything alright?” 

“They think so,” I say. “She might have to stay in the NICU for a while, we’re just gonna have to wait and see. But my doctor said everything looks okay. I’m gonna do a water birth.” 

“April, that’s amazing,” she says.

“Can I talk to Thena?’ I ask, sure that she’s awake. I heard movement in her room as we were headed out the door; admittedly, I wasn’t being very quiet.

“Sure.” 

She hands the phone over and a few seconds later, I hear Athena’s small, tired voice. “April?” she says. “Are you having my sister now?” 

“Soon,” I say, smiling. “I just wanted to talk to you and tell you about it myself. You’re gonna have a little sister in just a few hours.”

“But it’s not time yet,” she says. “There’s a month left on the countdown. It’s too early.”

“I know,” I say. “But she wants to come now. There’s no stopping her.” 

“I don’t think she’s ready,” Athena says.

“She’ll be okay,” I say. “She might have to spend some time here in the hospital after she comes, but we’re going to wait and see. I wanted to ask you, though. Do you want to come to the hospital to meet her once she’s born?” She’s quiet for a long time. So long, I even pull the phone away from my face to see if she’s hung up. She hasn’t. “Thena?” 

I hear a small sniffle, then a hiccup. “Are you gonna die like my mommy did when she had me?” she asks, all pitchy. “I don’t want you to die.” 

I close my eyes. “Honey, no,” I say. “No, no.” 

“Am I gonna see you again?” she asks. “What if my sister makes you die? Then I won’t ever have you and Daddy will have two babies with no mommies.”

“Thena, I promise, everything will be fine,” I say. “You’re gonna see me again, so soon.” 

“I didn’t even get to say bye,” she sobs, and I wish I was there to hug her. I can’t imagine how scared she must be, and I feel selfish because the thought hadn’t crossed my mind before now.

“You didn’t have to,” I say. “I’m gonna be back home with the baby as soon as I can. I’m not gonna die, Thena, I swear. I won’t.”

“I don’t wanna come to the hospital,” she says. “Bad things happen there. My mommy died there and I had my peanut thing there. I only wanna see my sister at home.” 

“Okay,” I say. “Alright. Thena, baby, I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” she peeps. 

“You wanna talk to your daddy?” 

“Yeah.” 

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the tub, Jackson and Athena’s conversation registering in the very back of my mind. When he hangs up, he presses his nose against my temple and breathes deeply, so I wind my arm around him to touch the back of his head. “I’m here,” I say, pausing before I continue. “She’s scared.” 

“I know,” he whispers, and there’s something foreign in his voice. I open my eyes and hold his chin so I can look at his expression, seeing that his fear hasn’t disappeared. 

“Are you scared, too?” I ask. As soon as I pose the question, his water line flood with tears that soon fall to create rivulets on his cheeks. His chin quakes and he blinks hard, which only makes him cry more. “Oh, baby,” I say, pulling him in for a hug. I can only get my arms around his head, but it’s good enough. 

“I can’t lose you,” he sobs into my neck. His whole body is trembling. I’ve never seen him like this before. 

“You won’t,” I say. “No. Just like I told Athena, I promise. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He sniffles and keeps his face where it is, arms draped around me. “Last time, it came out of nowhere,” he says. “She was healthy. It wasn’t supposed to happen like it did. That’s the only history I have with birth. I’m terrified, April. I can’t stop imagining…” 

“No,” I say sternly. “Don’t let your mind do that. I’m right here. Look at me, babe, look at me.” He pulls his head up and I wipe the moisture from his cheeks. “Look at this chunky face. It’s not going anywhere. I’m about to have your baby, and we’re gonna take her home and we’re gonna be a family. All four of us. It’s gonna be beautiful, alright?”

“Okay,” he says. “Sorry for… crying.” 

“I’m gonna be crying up a storm and probably swearing your ears off in a couple hours,” I say, stroking his face. “You’re allowed to cry. But I promise, everything is gonna be okay.” 

…

Two hours later at 2:38am, Selah Joy is born. Jackson’s body is sturdy behind mine in the water, and I press against him as I push for the final time. “You got this, baby, you got this,” he says, lips right against my ear.

“She’s coming!” the midwife says. 

“Hear that, baby? She’s coming,” he says. 

“Big push!” 

I bear down, chin to chest, and grip the sides of the birth pool. Jackson keeps his hands on my arms as he peeks over my shoulder, and I hear him gasp as pressure is released from my pelvis. “She’s here,” he says, voice full of awe. “You did it.”

The midwife tells me how to lift my daughter up and out, and the experience is a surreal one. Of course, the water isn’t exactly clear, but it ceases to matter as her face nears the surface. Time moves in slow motion, her features pinched as she nears the outside world, and as soon as she does, she takes her first breath. I’m openly weeping as I hold her, one hand under her head and the other on the small of her back, and Jackson cuts the cord. As soon as it’s done, I look to the midwife and ask with a wobbly voice, “Can I hold her? Before you take her, can I just…?” 

“Yes,” she says warmly. Hold her.”

With both of our bodies slippery and wet, I cradle Selah as close as I can. I press her body against my bare chest as she cries, and Jackson wraps his arms around the both of us. I kiss the side of her head covered with so much hair already and close my eyes, tears slipping down my cheeks. I don’t know what to say; I’m feeling too much for words. All I want to do is touch her; she’s in my arms and I brought her here. She’s breathing, she’s perfect, and she’s ours. “My little bird,” I say. “Oh, Jackson, she’s so tiny.” 

He kisses my cheek and touches the baby, stroking her as softly as he can. “She’s beautiful,” he says. “And you’re beautiful.” 

I lean my head against him, letting out a long, sated breath. I keep my eyes on her, though; on her button nose and little rosebud lips. She’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. My heart grows ten sizes with her in my arms - I never knew I could feel like this. “Hi, precious girl,” I whisper, touching her cheek as her mouth opens. “I’m your mama.” 

The nurse takes her and my placenta is delivered, which is by no means pleasant, but I make it through. I’m cleaned up and moved to a bed, but I don’t let Jackson go far. He lies next to me while they tell us Selah weighs 5 pounds, 6 ounces and so far, everything looks great. They’re doing a few blood tests and checking her lungs, but if they hadn’t known better, they would’ve thought she was full-term. 

While she’s gone, I miss her. It’s the first time I’ve been without her for nine months and it’s an odd feeling, like I’m missing a piece of myself. “She’ll be back,” Jackson whispers, petting my hair. “You need to get some sleep, mama.”

I smile, caught, and turn to look at him. “I know,” I say. “I just want her here with us.” 

“Soon,” he says. 

“I told you I’d make it through,” I slur, eyelids drooping with exhaustion. “I’m still alive.”

“Yes, you are,” he says. “And I love you. You’re amazing.” I make a content sound in my throat. “Thank you… for letting me be in there with you,” he says.

“It made me feel good,” I say. “I forgot about everyone else. It was just me, you, and her.” 

“I know,” he says, cupping my jaw to give me a slow, sweet kiss. “Close your eyes now. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

I must only sleep for a few minutes before I hear the sound of wheels and soft voices. I open my eyes to see a nurse pushing a bassinet, talking to Jackson with tiny Selah Joy swaddled in the pink blanket we brought from home. She’s wearing a tiny hat - also ours - with her name embroidered on it, too. “Hi, mom,” the nurse says. “I can take her back if you wanna get some shut-eye. But she was hungry, and I thought you’d like to try breastfeeding. If you’re interested in it, that is.”

“I am,” I say sleepily, rubbing one eye. 

She hands me my baby and instantly, everything locks into place. Selah blinks up at me and I see her eyes for the first time - right now, they’re a deep azure that will probably lighten with time. Or maybe, it won’t. She can’t quite focus, but I smile anyway and nuzzle her nose with my own. “Hi, sweetheart,” I whisper. “I’m gonna learn how to feed you now.” 

The nurse helps me situate my breast in a comfortable position for both me and the baby, and Jackson watches with one arm around my shoulders. Selah has a hard time latching at first, but it doesn’t take her long. After about fifteen minutes of fussing and struggling, she roots and finds my nipple, latching like a pro. It’s a strange feeling but not a bad one, and I’m proud of us both. “So hungry,” Jackson says, touching the tiny shell of her ear. “Already taking after Mama.” 

“Hey,” I say, shooting him a look over my shoulder. I don’t keep my eyes on him for long, though, because I don’t want to stop looking at my perfect baby. 

As she’s nursing, my doctor comes in with a gentle smile on her face. “Already breastfeeding,” she says, sitting on a stool. “That’s wonderful. It only propels the notion that she’s perfectly fine. Everything about her is healthy. Her lungs look great, her heart is doing fine, and her blood tests all came back normal. She was just ready to be out. She was all done, she wanted to see the world.” 

“What does that mean for us, then?” I ask, stroking Selah’s back.

“We’ll keep you here tonight so you can sleep,” the doctor says. “All of you. But when you’re ready, tomorrow you can go home. She can, too.”

“Really?” I ask. 

“Really,” she says with a grin.

…

Athena doesn’t know we’re coming home the next day. When Maggie dropped her off at school, she didn’t tell her much besides that myself, Selah and Jackson are all doing well. It put Athena at ease, but I can’t wait to see how she’ll react to seeing us in person. I’m a little nervous, admittedly, wondering what she’ll think of her sister. But I can only hope for the best. 

I’m sitting on the couch with Jackson when I hear the front door come open. “I saw the car,” Athena says. “Are they home? Did they come home and you didn’t tell me?” 

“Go look and see for yourself,” Maggie says. 

I hear hurried footsteps and then she appears, pausing in the entryway for a split second as she takes in the sight. I have Selah in a soft, pink sleeper, hat on her head and booties on her feet, and Athena’s eyes grow to the size of dinner plates when she sees her. She runs forward and stops on a dime, though, hands to her chest as her face toils with emotion. “How is she finally here?” she asks, blinking hard. 

She sits down a few cushions away, both hands over her heart, and tries not to cry. I laugh a little, saying, “Are you okay?” She can’t answer, though. She pinches her eyes shut tight and her lower lip trembles, unable to say a word. “You’re so happy?” I ask, prompting her. She nods, breath hitching as she opens her eyes to see her sister. She wipes her tears, unable to look anywhere else, and I ask, “Do you wanna hold her?”

She nods eagerly, sniffling at the same time. “How is she here?” she asks again, voice croaky as I stand and she waits. 

“She’s healthy,” I say. “We knew she was coming home, but we wanted to surprise you.” 

I lower Selah into Athena’s waiting arms, posed like I assume Maggie taught her while we were gone. The baby is comfortable, fingers moving, and she touches Athena’s cheek as she adjusts. Athena stares down at her, wide-eyed and amazed, tears still rolling down her face. It doesn’t even look like she’s breathing, the moment is so much for her. With her lips parted, she keeps her eyes locked on the baby, arms in a steady hold, and my emotions are out of control. I’m feeling too much to name, but I let it happen. I don’t need to place a finger on my feelings right now. Soaking them up is enough.

“Look at you,” I say. “You’re such a good big sister.” She sniffles again and closes her mouth, grinning gently at Selah whose eyes are closed and restful. “Do you love her?” I ask. 

For the first time, she looks into my eyes instead. She doesn’t respond with words - she doesn’t have to. She just nods, keeping my gaze for only a moment before looking back to the baby who has begun to fall asleep. While admiring her face, she inhales slowly, smile growing. She takes a deep breath then lowers her head to kiss Selah’s cheek, lingering after. Then, she nods again and whispers, “I love her.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the ending of my NaNo piece, Force of Nature!! I'm really happy with how it turned out. Thanks everyone for sticking with me and reviewing. Final word count: 127,108!!

**APRIL**

“I really can’t believe she’s getting married.”

“I know. It makes me feel so old.”

I laugh softly and rest my hands on Jackson’s chest, leaning against the wall as he traps me in. “That’s because you are,” I say. “Ancient. Me, on the other hand, I’m still very young.”

Jackson snorts and shakes his head, eyes rolling as he goes. I reach to touch the gray hairs that have begun to sprout in his beard, the few on his chin. I happen to think they’re sexy, but I still make fun of him. “40 next year…” he sings.

“Okay, Mr. Over the Hill,” I say.

“Hey,” he says. “Not yet.”

“Close enough,” I say as he kisses me. Our foreheads press together and I feel him smile against my mouth, trapping my arms between our bodies as his hands find a low place on my hips.

When I pull away, he leans in again but I touch his lips with one finger and push his head back. “Hey,” he says indignantly, opening his eyes to look at me.

“You’re not gonna get me worked up at our daughter’s _wedding_ ,” I say, eyes wide. “I have to draw the line somewhere.”

“Draw it a little further,” he says, tracing the subtle zipper along the back of my matron of honor dress. He pinches the top of it between his thumb and first finger, threatening to drag it down while saying, “And draw it with your dress off.”

“How are you this horny every single day?” I ask, laughing as I grab the insides of his elbows to force them down.

“It’s a gift,” he chuckles, dropping a kiss on my cheek. “But fine. I’ll be good.”

“I know you will,” I say, resting against the wall again as I study his face. I place my hands on his shoulders and move my thumbs in circles, then frame his face a few seconds later. “It’s a big day,” I say.

He sighs and tips his head to the side, resting his cheek in my palm. “Our little girl,” he says, smiling sadly.

“Well, she’s not so little anymore,” I say. “23 isn’t little, babe.”

“She’ll always be little to me,” he says.

“That’s true,” I say, then smile. “Sometimes, when I look at her face, I can still see her at 7. Sitting next to me at the piano as she figured out how to play.” Something pangs inside my chest. “I’m making myself sad,” I say.

“Me, too,” he says, overlapping my hand with his. “Let’s just have another baby.”

I laugh incredulously. “ _That’s_ what you got out of this?” He nods playfully, wrapping his arms tight around my waist to pull me in for a hug, face in my neck. “I don’t think so.”

“My swimmers still work,” he mutters.

“Baby, stop,” I say, smacking him lightly on the back.

“No, I know,” he says, lifting up to meet my eyes. “I’m kidding. Kiwi, I’m kidding.”

He holds the back of my head and kisses me as an amendment. I trail my fingers through his trimmed beard and he grips my ass with his free hand, squeezing generously as the small sound I make disappears into his mouth. This time, I don’t push him away. I let him rile me up and make my blood pump faster, so much so that when a voice sounds from outside the door, I nearly miss it. “Mama,” Selah says. “Mom!”

I pull away from Jackson but keep my hands where they are on his face. “Yeah?” I call, head turned towards the door. He nuzzles my cheek, grazing his lips along my jaw. “What is it, honey?”

“Can you come out?”

I giggle and crinkle my neck as Jackson blows warm air into my ear, then shove him away with my shoulder. “What do you need?” I ask. “Is everything alright?”

“Thena needs you. I know you and Dad are in there! Can you please just come out?”

“Shit,” Jackson smiles, and I unravel from him for good.

I try and straighten myself before opening the door, putting every hair back in its place and checking my compact to make sure my makeup stayed as it should. Luckily, we didn’t get far, so my look hasn’t changed. When I open the door, my younger daughter stands there in her bridesmaid’s dress, hair done-up and beautiful, expectant and irritated. “She’s asking for you,” she tells me. “She has been for like, ever.”

“Sorry, honey,” I say. “I’m here now.”

“She’s crying and you’re like, making out in a closet,” Selah says and Jackson stifles a chuckle. “It’s not funny, dad!” she says, in a typical 15-year-old fashion.

“I’m not laughing, birdie, I promise,” he says. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, shooting him a glare. “She wants you, mom. I tried to help, but she didn’t wanna talk to me. So, I told her I’d go and get you.”

“Alright,” I say. “Is she in the dressing room?”

“Yeah.”

“Am I coming, too?” Jackson asks.

“No,” Selah says. “She just wants Mom.”

“Alright, well dang,” Jackson says. “Yesterday’s trash is gonna go see how sound check is going, then.”

I walk with Selah after Jackson breaks away and stop once we get to the dressing room door. I can hear small sniffles coming from inside, a sound that breaks my heart in two. “Can I have some time alone with her?” I ask my daughter. “I think that’s probably what she needs right now.”

“Alright,” Selah agrees.

“Go make sure your dad doesn’t cause any trouble,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. She does it so much, I’m surprised they haven’t gotten caught in the back of her head by now. “Fine,” she says lightly, then walks in the direction he went in.

After she goes, I lean on the door jamb and knock softly. “Athena?” I say.

“Mama?” she calls. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Can I come in?”

“It’s open.”

I walk through the door to find my daughter sitting in front of the lit-up mirror, long-sleeved wedding dress on with the veil beside her. Her makeup is smudged around her eyes and her cheeks are shiny with tears; her posture is of someone who’s been crying for a while. “Oh, sweetheart,” I say, hurrying to sit next to her. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and she falls into me like she used to when she was much younger, leaning all of her weight on my body. I accept it and hold her tight, closing my eyes as I press kisses to her intricately styled hair. “I’m here,” I say, rubbing her arm. “Tell me what’s going on.”

I’ve been in Athena’s life for over 15 years now, and we’ve gone through our fair share of ups and downs like any mother/daughter duo would. I legally adopted her when she was 9 years old, almost 10, and she started calling me ‘Mama’ a bit before then. Always ‘Mama’ never ‘Mom’ or ‘Mommy.’ It’s a special moniker that began as ‘Mama April’ and ended up shortening itself naturally. Myla was always ‘Mom’ or ‘Mommy.’ The relationship between Athena and me is an entirely different entity, so it deserved a different name.

“I’m happy but I’m so scared,” she admits, shoulders trembling. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I never thought I was too young to get married before, but maybe I am. Am I making a huge mistake?” She sniffles and wipes her nose with a balled-up tissue. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

I let her words sink in as I pull her closer and rock from side to side. She rests her cheek on my chest plate, in the crook between my neck and shoulder, and drapes her arms around me. She’s not a big person by any means, so we’re decently comfortable like this. “It’s so normal to feel the way you’re feeling,” I say. “If you weren’t scared, I’d be worried, honestly.”

“I don’t wanna be scared, though,” she says. “It’s not like me.”

I laugh lightly and say, “I know. But this isn’t like anything else you’ve ever done. You’re gonna share your life with Luke, and that’s a beautiful thing. He’s a wonderful man who loves you so, so much. You know I wouldn’t have let him get this far if I didn’t think he’d give you the world.”

“I know,” she says, giggling tearfully.

“Everyone pictures their wedding day as this fabulous time full of photo-ops and glamour and… I don’t know, all the stuff you see in magazines. But magazines don’t show the little moments, where you cry on your mom’s shoulder in your wedding dress and wonder if walking down the aisle is gonna ruin your life.”

“Right,” she whimpers.

“You are young,” I say. “But you’ve never acted your age. Not since the day I met you. The thing is… with you, Athena, you know what you want and you go for it. 23 is young, but you’ve been with Luke since high school. I married your dad when I was 25; there isn’t much difference.”

“I bet you didn’t feel like this, though,” she says.

“Oh, yes I did,” I say.

“What?” she says, sitting up. I look at her face and the tears caught in her lower lashes, then dab them away with my thumb. “No, you didn’t. I’d remember.”

“I couldn’t cry in front of you,” I say. “You were only 9. I couldn’t let you see how scared I was, and I didn’t want him to know, either. It was the last thing I wanted, for either of you to think I was afraid of the choice I was making. My whole life had already changed, being that we were all living together and Selah was already born. But marriage… it was such a huge word for me back then. It still is. I take mine and your dad’s marriage very seriously. I felt too young for everything that was on my plate. I had an infant and a little girl who needed me, and I was about to have a husband, too. My life three years prior to that looked so different. I never thought I would be where I was, and I wasn’t sure the younger version of me would approve of it. But like you’re crying with me right now, I had Izzie and Steph. And they asked me... that of all the fears I had, what was the worst? And I thought about it for a while. At first I didn’t know, but then I realized. The absolute worst thing I could imagine was losing what I had, losing all of you. I knew my life was gonna change, and it did. It was just as scary as I thought it would be... but it was beautiful, too. It’s still beautiful. And your dad…” I close my eyes and shake my head. “Acts like a maniac sometimes. He makes mistakes all the time and so do I. But the thing about marriage is that you work through them together. You compromise and eventually, it becomes a habit. You get pissed at your spouse, you don’t understand them sometimes, but at the end of the day, that’s your person. You chose them and they chose you, and you’re creating a beautiful life together. That’s what marriage is all about. It’s based in that uncertainty. The rickety foundation might last for a while. A couple years, even. But it’ll go away in time. Because you won’t have to fix it on your own. You won’t have to be scared on your own. That’s why Luke’s here, baby. He loves you. You know how much he loves you.. I promise, you’re making the right decision. The fact that you’re scared of messing everything up is proof of it. It proves that you’re taking it for what it is - something big. This will change your life, of course it will. But it’ll change for the better.”

She lets out a long breath, lips puffing out as her shoulders cave in. Then, she leans over and I give her a hug, then a kiss on her head. “How come you always know just what to say?” she asks.

“You learn,” I say. “After plenty of years saying the wrong thing, the right thing happens now and again.”

“You’re the best, Mama,” Athena says.

“I’m not,” I say. “But I raised the best. You’re a force of nature, baby. You always have been.” She lets out a long, content breath and I sit her up to let my eyes roam her face. “I’ll fix your makeup,” I say. “Then we should get going, if you’re ready. Are you?”

She nods and I get to work, making small touch-ups here and there from what her crying spell ruined. It doesn’t take much and I happen to be pretty skilled with a brush, so by the time I’m done, she looks good as new. I stand behind her in the full-length mirror and beam at my daughter, pride swelling in my chest over the woman she is today. “When you married Dad,” she says. “Did you feel her there with you?”

“My mom?” I ask, though I don’t need the clarification. She nods. “Of course, I did.”

“So, it’s not weird that I feel Myla here now?” she asks.

“Not at all.”

“I like to picture Grandma with her,” she says. “Grandma Karen.”

“Oh, so do I,” I say. “I think they would be great friends.”

“And this dress,” Athena says, trailing her fingers down the long sleeves I wore when I married her father. “She would love it.”

“Those sleeves,” I say warmly. “They’re what she dreamed of for me. For us now.”

She leans her temple against mine and closes her eyes. “I’m really proud to be wearing it,” she says. “Can we pass it down to Selah, too? When she’s ready?”

“Of course,” I say. “If she wants it.”

“She will,” Athena says. “I’ll tell her later. Right now, I kinda want it to just be me and you.”

I turn her around and frame her face, admiring my beautiful daughter. “Me and you,” I echo.

…

The wedding ceremony is beautiful as I knew it would be. Jackson cries as he gives his little girl away and Luke cries as he receives her. My eyes are teary as they recite their vows, and Selah holds my hand from where she stands behind me. Everything comes together in a stunning culmination, even more gorgeous than I pictured. I didn’t know my heart could feel like this, as I watch the young girl I raised take the step into a new phase of her life. She’s letting go of my hand and spreading her wings, and I never thought she would be ready for this day. She clung to my side for so long, even longer than Selah who’s 8 years younger. She hated letting me out of her sight and used me as a security blanket for so many years. I know that bond won’t go away, it could never disappear, but as of now I’m not the only safety net in her life. She has a circle, a wide ring of people who love her and whom she can depend on. She knows she can trust them. She knows we’ll never leave her, which is something that took her many years to learn.

During the reception, I’m sitting with Jackson and Selah at the head table while the band in the corner plays a cover of First Day Of My Life by Bright Eyes. We get word that the father/daughter dance is next, but before Jackson walks away, he stands and says in my ear, “You’d sing this better.”

“Shush,” I say.

“Put it on your next cover album,” he says.

“Maybe,” I say, waving him towards the dance floor. “Go on. Your daughter’s waiting.”

He smirks over his shoulder and Selah takes his chair, leaning against my side. I kiss her hair and rest my cheek on top of her head as we watch her father and sister find the dance floor. “Dad’s a fool,” she murmurs.

“I know,” I say, smiling.

“But he’s your fool, right?”

I nod. “Oh, definitely,” I say.

“Don’t do a cover album,” she says, “I like your original songs better. I think you should do another one of just them, like what you did for Skyline Sunset.”

“I will,” I say. “Your dad just likes my covers. He has a special spot in his heart for them.”

“‘Cause that’s what you were singing when you met,” she says.

“Exactly,” I say.

I sing for an independent label, having produced four albums now. I’m on a break at the moment, but I’ll start work on the fifth soon. Now that Athena is grown and Selah at a less dependent age, I fly to LA frequently. I can do some of the work locally, but when touring and press comes into play, I travel a lot. My fame isn’t worldwide or anything that’s on a large scale, but it’s enough. I sing for a living, which is what I always wanted. And I get to have my family, too, which is my dream. I can finally have both.

Selah and I get up and stand at the edge of the dance floor as Jackson and Athena dance to Vincent by Don McLean. She rests her hands on his shoulders and he keeps his on her rib cage, and they talk quietly so only the other can hear. He mutters something that makes her laugh, the wide smile taking over her entire face, then she rests her head on his chest as he sways. While watching them, I keep an arm around Selah and remember how Jackson held Athena the night of her 8th birthday and danced to this same song. I wonder if it makes her feel sad like it did when she was younger; I almost hope that it does. The melancholy power hasn’t left, and the feeling still sits in my chest as present as it did the first time I heard it. Her mother loved this song and her mother loved her. I hope she’ll always hold onto that notion through the notes.

After it ends, Jackson gives her a big hug and the band plays something more upbeat with a quicker rhythm. It’s The Sweetest Thing by Camera Obscura, and I tug Selah onto the dance floor which earns me a happy shriek from her. I take both of her hands and we jump up and down to the beat, crazy grins painting our faces as wisps of hair fly out of the fancy updos they had been plaited into. She looks at me with a sparkle in her eyes and I linger for a long moment, hoping to remember the joy of how she looks right now.  

When that song ends and another comes on - Marry Me by Train - we stop jumping and Jackson comes up behind his daughter to touch her shoulder. “May I cut in?” he asks jokingly, and she rolls her eyes and giggles.

“Sure,” she says, then seeks out Izzie who’s admiring the cake.

Jackson takes me in his arms and I fall into him as I always have. He tucks a piece of flyaway hair behind my ear and looks at me softly, tipping his head just a bit. “You’re beautiful,” he says.

“So are you,” I say, smirking.

I rest my cheek over his heart and we don’t do much dancing at all. We just move with the music, our hands linked on one side and on the other, his on my waist and mine on his shoulder. I like us best this way. “Marry me,” he whispers, lips moving right against my ear. “All over again.”

I tip my head up and blink slowly, and he takes the cue to kiss me. “Today and every day,” I sing along with the lyrics, and all he needs to do is kiss me again.

…

When the time for dancing is over and everyone is back in their seats eating cake, Athena stands with the microphone to give a speech I had no idea she was going to make. “Hi, everyone,” she says with a demure grin. “First of all, I want to thank you for coming. We’re having such a great time, and it wouldn’t be the same without each and every one of you here. We’re so lucky to have such amazing people in our lives.” Luke smiles up at her from where he sits and I feel my heart swell because of it. I know the look in his eyes well; I see it in Jackson’s almost every day. “I just wanted to take a second to shine light on a few people here,” Athena continues. “First of all, my husband.” She looks at him and he smiles again, so hard it makes my cheeks hurt. “You’re the love of my life, Luke. Since 11th grade, it’s been you and it’ll always be you. We went from sneaking kisses under the bleachers to sneaking kisses in your car down the street so my dad wouldn’t catch us…” Jackson groans theatrically, which makes everyone laugh. “To sneaking kisses in my dorm room while my roommate was gone, to sneaking kisses backstage at the music hall. I feel so lucky to have had you as my partner for the most important years of my life, and I can’t wait for all the important ones to come. I love you.” She bends at the waist and gives him a kiss, and everyone claps as she stands back up. “I want to thank my dad, too,” she says. “Number one, for paying for so much of the wedding. Thanks, dad!” Jackson makes yet another sound, ever the comedian, to get some more laughs. “But I wanna thank him for always believing in me and always trying with me. I wasn’t the easiest kid and he didn’t always know how to handle me, but we made it through. I wouldn’t be who I am right now if it weren’t for him. I love you, daddy.” Jackson smiles and blows her a kiss. “And my baby sister, Selah. Who keeps me strong and always listens whether I’m making sense or not. I could go on and on about you, but I won’t embarrass you. I love you, little birdie.” Selah smiles and then Athena’s eyes land on me. “And lastly, comes my mama. The woman so integral to how I grew up, to how I discovered myself, and how I was introduced to the world around me. She shaped my life in ways I had no idea were possible. She came to me when I was 7 years old - most of you know my biological mom died when I was born. April was my nanny at first, but my dad and I fell in love with her way too hard to let her go. She’s everything to me and she always has been. If anyone is the force of nature around here, it’s her.” She smiles and my eyes glisten in the same way hers do. “I love you, mama.”

Jackson squeezes my knee with the hand that rests there, and Selah hugs me from the side. I close my eyes and let the tears fall over, then press a hand to my heart. I look Athena deeply in the eyes and mouth in return, “I love you, too.”


End file.
